Harry Potter and the Marauders' Return
by Srikanth1808
Summary: Year 3 with a twist! Join Harry as he goes through his third year at Hogwarts, with Dementors, escaped prisoners and rats, a certain intriguing red-head, and some welcome realizations! In progress - Chapter 5 now up - ON TEMPORARY HIATUS (till I get my thoughts sorted). SEE PROFILE FOR UPDATE!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter series.**

 **Prologue**

* * *

He signalled to her with a slight wave of his free hand, the other gripping his wand tightly. She looked around at his gesture from her vantage point on the other side of the closed door, one eyebrow raised in what was clearly a questioning glance.

He was just about to show up three fingers as a count-down when a low moan issued from the other side of the door, followed by the unmistakeable sound of someone scrambling on the floor. He looked back sharply at the door, heart thudding in his chest while a mixture of fear, worry, anger and recklessness coursed through him. A quick glance to his right told him that she was just as worried as he was – her eyes were wide with apprehension, and her arm holding her wand was shaking ever so slightly.

And then it happened.

' _Crucio!_ '

Terrible screams of pain issued from inside the room, along with what sounded horribly like someone… _laughing_. He scrunched up his eyes and tried to block out the agonizing shrieks of his friend; he chanced another glance at his current companion, desperate to come up with some semblance of a plan to get in and get out.

He could barely recognize the person standing across him.

Gone was the apprehensive and fearful gaze that had filled her eyes for the last five minutes – the brown had now become almost black with rage…her wand hand, which was only moments ago slightly quivering with dread, was now steady as a rock; her other hand was clenched into a fist, her long nails digging into her palm so forcefully it was a wonder he couldn't see blood trickling out of it. Her shoulders were set with fierce determination, her stance as though she was readying herself to charge into a duel…

And somehow, he knew that this would end badly if she did charge into a duel.

'Wait – _no_!'

But before he could say anything else, she took a few steps forward, kicked the door open with such force that it was almost blasted off its hinges, and ran inside the room, wand at the ready.

He swore. Loudly.

It was said that the Shrieking Shack was the most haunted dwelling in all of wizarding Britain.

But as he stepped over the threshold, past the broken door that was barely holding onto to its anchors of support, and looked up into the eyes of Fenrir Greyback, he could only hope that the evening wouldn't be as haunted as the building he was in.


	2. Chapter 1: Reminiscence

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter series.**

 **Recognizable portions from this chapter have been taken from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, by J.K. Rowling**

 **Chapter 1: Reminiscence**

* * *

Three more days…Three more, long, dry days till he could be free of the daily insults and berating he received at her hands. He'd already survived the first four days of her stay, albeit not without some bruising – he shuddered involuntarily as the memories of those days played back in his mind – so he figured another three days couldn't possibly hurt any more.

After all, he'd already survived a drawn-out fight with a giant, poisonous fifty foot basilisk at school at the end of last year. Another three days with Aunt Marge should be a piece of cake.

Harry Potter heaved a long, drawn-out sigh – one that spoke of resentment, anger, and unwilling resignation at his situation – and resumed cleaning up the clutter of items on his bed. Books with pictures that moved as though they were alive, a bunch of feathers whose tips were stained with ink, pieces of parchment strewn about on his bed and under the loose floorboard beneath his bed, and what looked suspiciously like a book with fanged teeth along its edges and a belt buckled tightly around it; it gave a low growl in Harry's direction as he reached for a sleek black leather case, with the words _Broomstick Servicing Kit_ stamped across it in flowing silver letters.

The first three days with Aunt Marge in the house had been nothing short of terrible for Harry. While the Dursleys' encouraged Harry to stay out of their way, Aunt Marge constantly insisted on his presence at all times; she took great delight in pointing out Dudley's 'admirable' qualities as opposed to the never-ending list of Harry's faults. Harry had forced himself to remember his deal with Uncle Vernon for getting his permission slip for Hogsmeade signed whenever Aunt Marge went on one of her rants, but it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to keep his cool at those times.

It had almost come to a head on the third day – the day before yesterday – of Aunt Marge's stay at Number Four. While Aunt Marge had insisted that she usually had a 'very firm grip', which had led to her wine glass exploding in her hand, Harry knew – just _knew_ – that he'd lost his control and shattered the glass. It wasn't something he'd planned though – he'd been so angry at her insults towards his mum – but his record of doing magic outside of Hogwarts wasn't exactly clean either. He had no intention of repeating last summer's performance of magic – despite the fact that it was Dobby the house-elf who was responsible. He'd been warned that any more magic outside of school would effectively end his education at Hogwarts.

 _Desperate times call for desperate measures_ , he thought wryly.

Hence, the _Broomstick Servicing Kit_.

Or at least, what was inside the kit. Harry had to hand it to Hermione: his bushy-haired best friend was as interested in flying and Quidditch as he was in a History of Magic class, but she definitely knew the perfect birthday present for him. He missed flying and playing Quidditch at Hogwarts so badly it was like a constant ache in his chest. The _Kit_ might have added to the melancholy feeling inside him – especially considering how he had been forced to act like a Muggle for the duration of Aunt Marge's visit – but he knew Hermione always had his best interests at heart.

After almost eleven years of being told by the Dursleys' that he was a waste of space and utterly worthless, and after Dudley made sure that he had no friends at primary school, the fact that he now had not one, but two best friends who cared deeply for him was taking him a good deal of time to accept.

Scratch that – he almost definitely had a third, but he wasn't sure if the feeling was mutual – yet.

Harry shook his head to clear his morbid thoughts, instead focussing on going through the _Handbook of Do-it-Yourself Broomcare_ once more. A mere fifty pages long, the _Handbook_ had become a life-saver in his bid to gain some semblance of control whenever Aunt Marge started on him. Apart from the dead useful text, it was filled, like all wizarding books, with illustrations that moved; the page he was reading right now had a picture of a short, lumpy wizard attempting to fix the braking mechanism on his Cleansweep Nine.

 _Wave your wand in an arcing manner over the broom while saying the words '_ Sufflameno _'. This will help you identify the exact location of the braking charm on the broom, as well as the problems with it. Some of the more common problems with the braking charm, along with their fixes, have been given below…_

He of course couldn't practice at Privet Drive what the Handbook was instructing him to do – he wasn't allowed to do magic outside of school except in extenuating, life-threatening circumstances. Harry was quite sure that fixing his broom of any braking charm faults hardly qualified as 'life-threatening circumstances', as much as Ron might have tried to argue otherwise.

He had also been forced to pretend to live like a Muggle for the duration of Aunt Marge's stay – a task which had its disadvantages: he had been forced to send Hedwig, his snowy-white owl and faithful companion, away from Privet Drive so that she wouldn't cause any distractions or unwanted questions; his presents and birthday cards had been shoved into the loose floorboard; but most important of all, he'd been forced to finish his homework and any magic-related reading in the dead of the night.

He'd been sorely tempted to just read his books during the day, but the image of a signed Hogsmeade form would then swarm into his mind's eye, effectively banishing his rebellious thoughts.

Today, however, the Dursleys had taken Aunt Marge out for 'who-knows-what' for the entire day, leaving the house empty, and him in solitude. He didn't mind it however – the forced confinement at Privet Drive was driving him stark crazy; even if he did step out, he was either followed – or worse, pursued – by that blasted bulldog of Aunt Marge, or chased by Dudley and his cronies in what they termed as their favourite sport – Harry Hunting. The warning from the Ministry last year had snuffed out any chance of him threatening Dudley with magic, something which his great whale of a cousin took advantage of quite gleefully. Not that Harry gave him or his gang a chance to do so, of course.

No, if anything, this alone time at Number Four, Privet Drive was a godsend. It gave him the glorious chance to perhaps nick some food from the fridge, watch TV for a while (without being interrupted by Dudley), or most importantly, complete his homework and reading before he returned to Hogwarts.

The fact that he was actually reading something extra – and not just what was required for his summer homework – was a direct result of two major reasons, all of which could very well be attributed to the events of his second year at Hogwarts.

The first reason he had pinpointed was that his two previous Defence Against the Dark Arts professors were completely and utterly useless and incompetent. His first year professor, Professor Quirrell, had been a bundle of nerves – he had constantly stammered and stuttered during Harry's class, which meant that Harry had barely learnt anything that could have been said to be basic Defence knowledge for a first-year student. Harry's opinion of him took a major plunge when, at the end of his first year, he stopped Quirrell, who had been possessed by the wraith of Lord Voldemort, from stealing the Philosophers' Stone from Hogwarts.

His second year teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart, was thankfully, not possessed by Voldemort in any form; he was, however, an extremely incompetent teacher and a fraud who, as Harry found out at the end of last year, extensively used the Memory Charm to falsely claim credit for all the work he'd described in his publications.

Still perusing the Handbook (he was now reading about _A Charm to Cure Reluctant Reversers_ ), Harry chuckled softly as the memory of Ron's remark on Lockhart's competence, or lack thereof, rose clear as day in his mind…

* * *

 _The three of them, together with their fellow Gryffindors Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, Lavender Brown, Fay Dunbar, Christine Maxwell, and Parvati Patil, were sitting in the Gryffindor common room during the Easter holidays, poring over the lists of new subjects as they pondered over the choice of their subjects for their third year. Hermione, typically, had insisted that they take this matter extremely seriously._

' _It could affect our whole future,' she told Harry and Ron, who had groaned when she'd dragged them to the corner in the common room to finalize their choices. Their classmates were already sprawled out on the chairs and tables around them; the other girls were discussing their choices quite vigorously with a lot of hand gestures and intermittent squealing, while the boys were individually perusing their lists, their faces screwed up in concentration. Poor Neville was surrounded by letters from all his magical relatives, all of them giving him different advice on what he should choose. His face was a portrait of confusion and worry as he alternated between going through the subject lists and re-reading the letters of advice._

 _Harry saw Dean look up from his list and grin at him when he noticed them being dragged by Hermione to the corner. Harry responded with a roll of his eyes, and grinned back._

' _D'you think Arithmancy would be easier? Or Ancient Runes?' Neville's timid question floated over to the rest of them._

' _Don't know about that Nev, you should probably ask some of the older students,' Seamus responded, his eyes fixed to his subject lists._

' _I just want to give up Potions,' stated Harry gloomily as he sat down next to Hermione._

' _We can't,' said Ron resignedly. 'We keep all of our old subjects, or I'd've ditched Defence Against the Dark Arts.'_

 _Hermione looked scandalized. 'But that's a very important subject!'_

' _Not the way Lockhart teaches it,' replied Ron. 'I haven't learned anything from him this year except not to set Cornish Pixies loose.'_

 _A chorus of 'Hear, hear!' came from Dean and Seamus in response to Ron's remark, while the other girls giggled. Hermione, who had scowled at the mention of Lockhart's apparent incompetence, gave an indignant huff before returning to her list._

* * *

It seemed to be poetic justice that Lockhart had had his entire memory completely wiped out by a Memory Charm that had backfired from Ron's broken wand, down in the Chamber of Secrets.

His realization of the fact that he knew next to nothing about proper Defence – a few days after the Chamber incident – was decidedly unnerving, and he promised to make sure it wouldn't be the case from then on. So, as soon as he'd managed to get a set of writing materials from his trunk while Uncle Vernon was showing off his new company car, he immediately shot off a letter with Hedwig to Flourish and Blotts, asking them for a catalogue of sorts regarding the books that were available. He'd overheard Percy Weasley talking about the 'really useful mail-order services of Flourish and Blotts', and decided to give it a go.

And useful it was: within a span of three days, Harry had received his entire order of fifteen books; poor Hedwig had had to be assisted by two other owls to deliver the enormous, bulky package from Diagon Alley to Surrey. Harry had given the owls an extra-large offering of owl treats and some food nicked from the fridge as a reward.

His choice of fifteen books was not limited to Defence: he'd expanded his reading repertoire to include books on Transfiguration and Charms, another book titled _'A Student's Guide to History of Magic – Years 1 to 5'_ , and what Harry found extremely useful – _'Potions and Potioneering – A Beginner's Friendly Guide.'_ The last one contained explanation of the concepts and reasoning behind certain instructions and the choice of ingredients in every potion that neither Hermione nor even Professor Snape had been able to explain in over two years. He knew he wouldn't become a Potions prodigy overnight, but he was sure he wouldn't be as clueless in Potions as he used to be. He'd also made a mental note to get a similar book for Neville – his friend was atrocious in Potions.

A faint chime from the grandfather clock in the parlour below echoed through the house. Harry, temporarily torn from his musings, glanced up from the _Handbook_ to the clock that rested on his bedside table – it was almost dinner time, and he wanted to have a decent meal before the Dursleys and Aunt Marge returned. Reluctantly putting away the Handbook back in the Servicing Kit and replacing it under the loose floorboard, he stretched languidly before making his way down to the kitchen. More out of sheer habit than anything else, he quietly opened the fridge and took out the half-eaten sandwich – Dudley had complained that it didn't have enough mayonnaise – and the unopened packet of orange juice. He was careful enough not to spill any crumbs or juice, lest his Aunt Petunia found out he'd been stealing food again.

Harry carried the sandwich and the juice packet back to his room; setting it on his relatively clean table, save for a few parchments that had survived his earlier purge of all magical items in the room. Despite his inner voice – that somehow sounded remarkably like Dumbledore, though for the life of him Harry couldn't figure out why – telling him that he should hide the letters as soon as possible, somehow he couldn't seem to bring himself to do it. The parchments – the signatures at the bottom revealing them to be letters when a slight summer breeze ruffled them – were proof that he had friends – people who cared about him and his well-being – a concept that still seemed a bit foreign to him.

The sandwich and the juice packet lay forgotten as, for what like seemed like the fiftieth time that summer, he read through the letters he'd received from his friends – letters from Ron and Hermione, one from Mrs Weasley who'd also managed to send a dozen Pumpkin Pasties along with her missive, birthday wishes from Hagrid and surprisingly, a letter from Professor Dumbledore. Harry removed the small piece of parchment from the pile and read through the slanted writing of his headmaster, who'd used what looked like an exotic tropical bird to deliver his letter, the day after his birthday.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I wish you a very happy birthday. I hope you are enjoying your summer holidays. Try not to stray too far from Privet Drive, if you do choose to go out._

 _I look forward to seeing you at the Opening Feast at Hogwarts._

 _Yours,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

It was that last sentence in the first paragraph of the letter that had spiked Harry's curiosity: as far as he knew, Professor Dumbledore had never sent letters to any of his students unless absolutely necessary, so he had treated that last line – which sounded like a subtle warning – with a certain amount of trepidation.

Harry couldn't imagine what might have prompted Albus Dumbledore to give Harry a warning about not going too far from Number Four. It wasn't like there was someone who was out there to kill him – although that had become quite a recurring feature of his past two years at Hogwarts. His mind strayed to the news he'd heard on TV about the deranged, escaped mass murderer, Sirius Black, and wondered if Dumbledore was worried about Harry being attacked by Black. He immediately dismissed that notion: Sirius was a Muggle, and was as likely to know about Harry Potter as the Queen of England was.

He passed it off as another example of Dumbledore's odd eccentricities – Harry had often wondered if the man was a little…mad, ever since he'd addressed the school at the Opening Feast in Harry's first year:

' _Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!'_

Even though he'd brushed it off, he couldn't help but feel a bit of apprehension whenever he heard of Sirius Black; Muggle newspapers and television news channels had been blaring about him for the last three days. He knew it couldn't be possible, but he had a horrible suspicion that he'd heard that name somewhere before…

Harry forcibly pushed down a slight sense of paranoia before he placed Dumbledore's letter at the top of the pile. The fading sunlight illuminated part of the moving photograph in the middle of the pile; Harry grinned as he looked at the image of the Weasleys posing for the picture in front of a rather large pyramid. Mr Weasley had won the _Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw_ a few weeks earlier, and had spent a major chunk of the seven hundred galleons on a trip to Egypt, where their eldest son, Bill Weasley, worked as a curse-breaker for Gringotts.

There was Ron, tall and gangly, with Scabbers the rat perched upon his shoulder; Fred and George stood on either side of him, one arm thrown over the other's shoulder and silently roaring with laughter at something; Percy stood a little further away from this group, his expression alternating between a disapproving scowl at the twins' direction, and a smug look to the camera, with his chest thrown out to emphasize his Hogwarts' Head Boy badge.

Mr and Mrs Weasley, smiling widely at the camera, stood on the other side of Percy, next to who Harry assumed was Bill Weasley – the only Weasley he didn't recognize on first sight from the photograph. Bill's hands were on the shoulders of the Weasleys' youngest child and only daughter – Ginny Weasley.

Harry felt a mixture of sympathy and admiration for Ginny Weasley; sympathy for the way Tom Riddle had manipulated and controlled her in order to finish what he'd started fifty years ago; admiration, however, for the fact that she was able to fight him off for a whole year, and emerge unscathed from the entire ordeal.

Well, almost unscathed.

Harry picked up the letter he'd received from Ginny sometime in the middle of July – the first of many letters that flew back and forth between them up till their trip to Egypt. He was genuinely surprised when he'd received her letter; he recalled the rather uncomfortable way she used to act around him. He never expected her to be this…eloquent.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I know we barely spoke to each other during last year, and I've never written to you, but I wanted to say something that's long overdue. I couldn't say it after…you know, because my brothers were always around me, and, well…to be honest, I wasn't sure I could properly string two sentences together if I spoke to you._

Harry had agreed with this assessment. He'd actually wondered how she'd managed to tell all of them on the train back from Hogwarts that Percy had a girlfriend.

 _I want to thank you, Harry, for rescuing me from the Chamber. I don't know what else I should say, to be honest – there isn't a guidebook for what one should tell their childhood hero after he actually rescues you from a life-or-death situation…_

Harry had chuckled at that remark, even though she'd referred to him as her 'childhood hero'.

… _and I'm not sure how I can express my gratitude that you came for me. I wanted to tell you so badly during the year, but he threatened me. Said that he'd ensure everyone I loved would die, and that it'd be my fault. I couldn't do it, Harry, I'm so sorry…_

Ginny's script had become a little shaky by this point, and there were large splotches on the parchment where her tears must have fallen. Harry couldn't honestly say that he could relate to what she was telling him, but he sympathised with her nonetheless. Having someone control you was horrible enough; having a sadistic sixteen-year-old future Lord Voldemort control you would have been…Harry couldn't think of an appropriate word to describe it.

 _I'm having nightmares about the entire thing, Harry. Killing the roosters, writing on the walls, releasing that – that giant snake of his…And no one else understands – they all think it's just a matter of time before it goes away, but if anything, it seems to be getting worse. And it always ends with you being killed by either Riddle or the snake – and I have to remind myself every time that it was just a nightmare, and that you're alive and he didn't kill you, and we're both okay._

More teardrops had fallen here at this point; the ink was smudged in several places.

 _I'm sorry, I'm such a blubbering mess – I'm not usually like this. I just thought that, maybe, if I told someone other than family, they would understand… I realize I'm probably asking a bit too much of you, but…_

 _Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you (although I know it will never be enough). I hope we could be friends from now on – I promise not to embarrass you once again!_

 _Your friend(?)_

 _Ginny_

The letter had evoked a mix of emotions inside Harry: sympathy for Ginny's ordeal and what she had to go through – and was still going through, actually; admiration for her courage and bravery in handling Tom Riddle for a whole year; disgust at the acts that she'd been forced to do – killing the roosters, petrifying those people – all without her even knowing about it; and most of all, a fierce mixture of anger towards Lord Voldemort and what he'd done to her, and determination that he wouldn't let anything like this ever happen to any of his friends again.

For Ginny Weasley was indeed a friend – if not immediately after the letter in which she'd bared a part of her soul and fears, then definitely after the number of letters they'd exchanged over the summer. Harry had, in his reply, reassured her that he didn't blame her in the slightest for what had transpired; that she didn't need to thank him, since he knew she would have done the same for him; that she _definitely_ wasn't asking too much from him – he knew how it felt to be alone, with no one to understand and tell him that everything would be alright; and that they would _of course_ be friends – not out of pity and sympathy for her, but for the genuine desire to get to know the real Ginny Weasley.

And what a person she was – Harry had never met a more vivacious and charming girl. Ginny was easily a mixture of Ron and Hermione – Ron for his support and loyalty, and Hermione for her intelligence and acceptance. He felt incredibly at ease while writing to Ginny – she had an unusual way of cheering him up whenever he felt a little under the weather at the Dursleys. In return, she told him about her nightmares, and how they'd been slowly, but surely, reducing every day, now that she had someone to speak with about them.

Harry had been glad to hear that – he knew the consequences of living with nightmares only too well, and while his were of the Dursleys and their actions against him – quite tame compared to Lord Voldemort – he would never wish a similar fate of loneliness upon anyone.

Ginny hadn't sent him a present for his birthday – she had been in Egypt along with her family – minus Charlie – but she assured him he would get it when they next met. Harry wouldn't admit it, but he was eagerly looking forward to what she would get for him as his first-ever birthday present.

His stomach rumbled loudly in the stillness of the room, so he put away the letters and quickly wolfed down the sandwich and the orange juice. After he'd finished his meal and washed up – making sure he left no traces behind – he returned to his room, intent on reading a few more pages of either the Handbook or _'Potions and Potioneering'_.

It seemed, however, that that evening would be reserved for his mind to reminisce – he would later term it as the first of many sessions of introspections that he put himself through. His eyes were on the pages of ' _Potions and Potioneering_ ', but his mind was currently resuming his musing from where he'd last left off – the reasons for why he'd began reading something other than what was necessary for his summer homework.

His second reason directly stemmed from the aftermath of the Chamber of Secrets debacle: he realized he was extremely reliant on Hermione for probably everything related to schoolwork and exams. While the exceptional circumstances of the opening of the Chamber of Secrets had indeed occupied everyone's mind, he, however, had been grossly underprepared for any semblance of what one might have termed as exams. He was extremely sure that, had Dumbledore not cancelled the end-of-year examinations last year as a school treat, he would have failed spectacularly.

And it wasn't that he was a bad student either. His initial marks at primary school had been quite impressive – he had been a bit ahead of his fellow students even at that age. The Dursleys, however, stoutly refused to accept the fact that their good-for-nothing nephew was better at anything than their 'precious, little Dudley'. Two weeks in his cupboard with a bruised, aching body finally got him to figure out a work-around to this predicament – he would have to pretend to do badly in his classes so that he wasn't better than Dudley.

The fact that Dudley barely managed to earn a passing grade in his classes was conveniently ignored by the Dursleys, in their quest to stamp out the 'abnormality' from young Harry.

This charade became so common that not performing to his fullest potential ultimately became quite ingrained into him – something he was extremely determined to fix over the summer and during his remaining years in Hogwarts. No longer would he be over-dependent on Hermione for his doubts or questions – he'd solve them on his own.

Hence the additional reading material in all his subjects. He chuckled softly to himself – Hermione wouldn't know what hit her when they got back to classes for third year.

The realization of his over-dependence on Hermione, a few days after his miraculous victory down in the Chamber, had forced him to evaluate just why he behaved like that. Harry remembered the day like it had been just yesterday…

* * *

 _He hadn't wanted to burden her or Ron with his musings, especially when she'd just been un-Petrified, so he had slipped out of the Gryffindor common room after telling them he was going for a walk, and would join them at dinner._

 _The corridors of Hogwarts Castle a half hour before dinner were bustling with students milling about here and there. The euphoria over the end of the Chamber of Secrets incidents had slightly dampened over the last few days, but it was more than made up by the decorations that spread throughout the castle – save the dungeons. Harry grinned as he took in the extravagant hangings that Fred, George and Lee had managed to put in almost every corridor of the school – they had really outdone themselves with this. Of course, Professor Snape had seemed to think otherwise – he'd shouted himself hoarse, awarded them both detention for the rest of the school year, and deducted forty points from each of them for this stunt._

 _Harry had never seen the three of them looking so pleased with themselves despite the punishment – clearly they thought it was worth all the trouble they went through. And it really didn't matter much – the two hundred points apiece he and Ron had been awarded by Dumbledore more than covered this deficit. The fact that Professors Flitwick and – surprisingly – McGonagall had expressed their admiration for their work was just an added, welcome bonus._

 _He made his way down the second floor corridor before turning left into a hidden tapestry that would deposit him right at the top of the marble staircase. The Entrance Hall was half full with hungry students waiting for the Great Hall to open; Harry noticed the crowd going momentarily silent when they saw him, before their chattering resumed almost instantaneously. He mentally shook his head – clearly their fear of him being the Heir of Slytherin still hadn't fizzled out._

 _His thoughts about pretending to do badly at school because of Dudley and his relatives went straight out of the window as he proceeded to the great oak doors of Hogwarts. Summer evenings at Hogwarts always had a bit of melancholic feel for Harry personally – it reminded him of the beauty that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with its towering turrets, great, green grounds, the sumptuous feasts in the Great Hall, sitting in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room…but summer meant that the school year was almost over, and that he'd have to return to the Dursleys for two months._

 _Shivering slightly at that thought, Harry made his way out of the castle into the warm summer evening. Students were out here as well, enjoying the last few days at the castle before they headed back home for the holidays. Many of them were lounging about in groups across the lawns of Hogwarts – Harry could make out Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan lying on the grass, surrounded by a group of Hufflepuffs. Over to their left, closer to the Black Lake, Lavender Brown and the Patil twins were chattering away while seated on a large blanket. They waved at him when he approached – he intended on taking a round along the banks of the Lake before heading back for dinner._

 _He'd just reached a point across from which the Weasley twins stood, tickling the tentacles of the giant squid, when he heard his name being called._

' _Harry!'_

 _He looked around; a couple of girls Harry recognized from the Hufflepuff group he'd seen earlier were striding towards him. Through the fading glow of the setting sun, Harry could make out the blonde pigtails of Hannah Abbott, and the red hair of – Susan, was it? Harry couldn't place a last name to her._

' _Hi,' he said. 'Hannah, isn't it?' The blonde girl nodded. 'And you must be…' He turned to the red-headed girl._

' _Susan Bones,' she said. 'We're in your year, but in Hufflepuff. You must have seen us in Herbology.'_

' _Erm, I can't say that I have, sorry.' His face flushed with embarrassment. He wasn't lying, however: he'd barely paid attention to any of his fellow classmates unless he was actually spoken to. He chalked it up as another unwanted consequence of living with the Dursleys – and promptly made a mental note to correct that soon._

' _Oh.' Susan's face fell slightly, and her gaze shifted._

 _There was an awkward pause._

' _Did you need something?' asked Harry. The sun had finally set, and he was feeling a little chilly despite the warm air permeating the grounds. He mentally berated himself for not bringing his cloak or jacket out for the walk._

 _Hannah shifted uneasily, her friendly face morphing into expressions of…guilt? Harry couldn't imagine why she'd be guilty of anything at that time._

' _We –' Susan elbowed her in the ribs, '– I mean, I wanted to apologize to you,' said Hannah quietly. She was staring at a spot on the ground just a few paces away from Harry, while Susan gazed in the direction of the castle, its many lighted windows glittering in the rapidly darkening sky._

 _Harry was nonplussed. 'Excuse me?'_

 _Hannah raised her head to look at him; he was shocked to see that her eyes were filled with unshed tears. Susan had shifted her focus onto Harry now; he noticed that she had dark blue eyes, slightly high cheekbones, and a kind, friendly and joyful face. Now, however, she had an expression that could almost said to be that of…boredom?_

' _What we did this year was extremely unfair to you, Harry,' continued Hannah. 'When the incident with Justin and the snake happened, Ernie kept telling us that you were the culprit, and, well…I believed him. I'm so sorry; I didn't stop to think if it made sense, I just…' She trailed off rather uncertainly._

 _Harry didn't know what to say at the moment; he could sense that she was yet to finish, so he nodded silently._

 _Hannah took a deep breath. 'I was a prat. An idiot who believed a rumour without verifying it properly. So much for Hufflepuff loyalty.' She gave a very awkward, forced laugh. 'I hope you can forgive me for this, I'll understand if you don't want to, I mean, I know I wouldn't forgive myself if I was in your place –'_

' _Hannah, stop,' he interrupted her rambling. She snapped her mouth shut and stared at him._

 _Another awkward pause; the only sounds they could hear right now were of the wind rustling the leaves of trees of the Forbidden Forest, and that of the water of the Lake as the giant squid sank back into its depths._

 _Harry looked away into the distance before speaking; Hannah's unwavering gaze was slightly disconcerting. 'I don't blame you – well, not entirely anyway,' he said quietly. 'I don't think I would have done anything different if I were in your place at that time, but I won't pretend and say it was easy for me, especially when I knew I didn't do anything with that snake and Justin.'_

 _Hannah nodded vigorously; Harry was slightly relieved to see that she had almost blinked away the tears in her eyes by now. Susan was still staring at him, with that almost-bored expression still on her face._

' _I do forgive you for this – Merlin knows we all need to stop holding grudges against each other, but it'll take me some time before I can trust you fully, Hannah.' He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile at the end, and was glad to see it returned, albeit shakily. He wasn't fibbing this time either: numerous incidents at primary school and with the Dursleys had resulted in him having some serious trust issues. He had no intention of having a repeat of that here at Hogwarts – Surrey had been more than enough for all that drama._

 _He stretched out a hand for her to shake, which she tentatively took – it was almost like she was expecting him to pull back and turn the entire thing into a colossal prank. Harry half-heartedly considered doing just that, before dismissing that idea altogether: he could tell she was quite sincere with her apology, and didn't want to ruin it for her._

 _Besides, along with his musings about Dudley and his reliance on Hermione, he'd realised that he needed some new friends. He wasn't one to look a gift horse in its mouth._

' _And of course, we'll be friends.'_

 _Hannah gave him a genuine smile this time, and it made a world of difference to her demeanour and expression; Harry could hardly believe that this blonde girl with an extremely pretty smile had looked so depressed and forlorn not two minutes ago. He grinned back at her, watching as she let go of the handshake, then stepped back and made her way to the castle._

 _He felt oddly relieved, and exhilarated. Justin and Ernie had apologized, and they had begun some sort of friendship, but he had a feeling his friendship with Hannah would prove to be a lot different from the others._

' _I warned her, you know.'_

 _Harry whirled around, so lost was he in his musings that he hadn't noticed that Susan hadn't left. She was still standing in the same spot, still staring at him, but the intensity of her gaze had softened considerably. It didn't look like she was trying to evaluate him, or figure him out._

 _He also noticed her voice – it was soft, not as high-pitched as Hannah's, but it had a ring of confidence to it. Like she was used to being right, and woe betide anyone who thought otherwise._

' _Sorry?'_

' _I warned her,' she repeated. 'I told her you couldn't be the Heir of Slytherin. I mean, your mother was Muggle-born, your best friend is Muggle-born, you would have no motive for going around and petrifying all those Muggle-born students.'_

 _Harry was surprised; he honestly hadn't thought of it from that angle at all. Now that Susan had brought it up, it did seem to be an extremely good reason – he wouldn't have had any motive for pushing off all those poor Muggle-born students._

' _So…you didn't think I was the Heir of Slytherin then?'_

' _No, of course not!' she exclaimed. 'Like I said, you had no motive for doing so, and, well…it just didn't feel right.'_

' _Feel right?' he questioned._

' _Nothing important,' she brushed it off with a wave of her hand. 'I'll tell you about it sometime soon, I suppose, only if…'_

' _Only if what?'_

' _Only if you would consent to being friends with me as well,' she grinned at him; in a way, it was almost a mischievous smirk. He couldn't help it: he grinned back as he shook her proffered hand._

' _Oh yes, Miss Bones, most definitely.'_

 _And with a laugh, they walked back to the confines of the castle._

* * *

Harry smiled to himself as the memory finished replaying in his mind. Since that day, Susan and Hannah had joined him, Ron and Hermione while they were outside on the school grounds. Hannah was a bit uncomfortable at first, but she too became friendly with everyone by the time school rolled around to a close. They had also joined them on the train ride back to King's Cross, laughing heartily when Ginny had announced the news of Percy's girlfriend. Harry was glad to see that the two Hufflepuffs – who were then joined by Justin and Ernie – had immediately forgiven Ginny for her part in the opening of the Chamber; he noticed that Ginny's shoulders lifted ever so slightly with their acceptance.

For some reason, Susan had forcefully demanded that he write to her over the summer – something which he immediately acquiesced to with a chuckle at her antics. Hannah was a little less authoritative, but he promised her that he would write to her as well, nonetheless. His correspondence over the summer had been exciting as a result – never before had he had so many friends to write to and receive letters from. His conversations with Susan, in particular, were extremely refreshing: Harry couldn't place it, but he always looked forward to her letters, even more than he did for Ron and Hermione's letters.

He gazed fondly at the pile of letters – whatever anyone or anything said, he was never going to hide these away.

The sound of a car engine being killed brought him back to his harsh reality. He looked around to the calendar that he'd hung up in his room – he now had twenty-eight days left before he returned to Hogwarts for his third year.

 _Three days of insults, followed by twenty-five days of loneliness and being ignored left to go..._

And as the front door opened, he only hoped that he would be in the right state of mind at the end of Aunt Marge's visit, so that Uncle Vernon would sign his permission form for him to visit Hogsmeade.

August 6, 1993 couldn't come soon enough for Harry Potter.


	3. Chapter 2: The Abbotts and the Grim

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter series.**

 **Recognizable portions from this chapter have been taken from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, by J.K. Rowling**

 **Chapter 2: The Abbotts and the Grim**

* * *

When Harry had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming and taking him away from the horror-house that was number four, Privet Drive. After he'd turned eleven however, and the whole story about Hogwarts had come out, he'd dreamed of a fantastical way by which he could escape the unbearable summers that he had to spend with his relatives – a way by which he could leave and never return, once and for all.

Blowing up his Aunt Marge and running away in the dead of the night, however, was definitely not one of the fantastical escapes he'd dreamt about.

Harry slumped onto the sidewalk of Magnolia Crescent, too tired from the exertion of dragging along his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Once again, he was sorely tempted to make his trunk feather-light, tie it to his broom and fly all the way to Gringotts in London. Then he could withdraw some money from the fortune his parents had left him…and begin life as an outcast.

It was a horrible prospect, but he was certain he didn't have any other alternative at the moment. He had almost definitely broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry with his outburst of magic – it was a wonder he wasn't surrounded by owls from the Ministry of Magic carrying letters that announced his expulsion from Hogwarts, and by representatives of the Ministry to do just that.

His anger at the insults and berating Aunt Marge had doled out to him was now replaced by panic, with a certain amount of helplessness. Harry didn't think he'd ever felt so alone before – not even when he had been locked in his cupboard under the stairs for weeks on end. He was sure Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Susan and Hannah would all want to help him – but he had no means of contacting them with Hedwig gone. As smart as she was for an owl, she couldn't sense if her master needed her from such a great distance.

Faced with no other viable options, Harry shuffled over to where he'd left his trunk. He opened his trunk once again, pushing the contents aside to extract his Invisibility Cloak – an heirloom from his father – when a funny prickling on the back of his neck made him straighten up suddenly, looking around him once more with a wary eye, his wand at the ready.

He was being watched.

But the street appeared to be deserted, and no lights shone from any of the large square houses in the vicinity. Yet, Harry could sense someone, or something, standing behind him in the narrow gap between the garage and the main house of number two, watching his every move.

Despite the ominous situation, Harry smiled to himself: here was finally a chance to test what he'd learnt from all the reading he'd done all summer. His books on Defence had instructed on some appropriate postures for duelling, and for preparing for an attack from behind him. Recalling the text from the books in his mind, he adjusted his stance – feet spread slightly apart, head cocked to one side to hear for anything unusual, wand firmly gripped in his right hand, while his left arm hung a little loose, ready to steady his balance once he spun around to face his assailant.

' _Lumos_ ,' he muttered quietly, and a bright light appeared at the end of his wand, almost dazzling him. He slowly shifted to a more optimum position on the sidewalk, but before he could do more than begin his pirouette, the thing _whined_.

Confused, Harry turned around, his lit wand causing the pebble-dashed walls of number two to sparkle in the near-darkness of the street. And between the walls of the house and the gleaming garage door, Harry saw, quite distinctly, the hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes.

The thing whined again, before moving out into the open from the narrow alleyway; it was a rather large dog, with shaggy black fur, but it looked dreadful. It was unbelievably thin – like it hadn't been fed for weeks; it was tottering slightly to the left as it made its way to stand in front of Harry; and it had scratch and bite marks along its muzzle and torso – it looked like it had been in a rough scuffle, and had come out of it looking worse for the wear.

Despite the fact that it was just a dog, Harry still refused to lower his wand; he barely noticed the light from his wand tip glowing brighter in intensity as his heart thudded painfully fast from nervousness, and he only vaguely registered it diminishing when his apprehension ebbed away. He looked down at the pitiful creature – it was now stretched out before him, its large eyes staring unblinkingly at him, as though it wanted to memorize an image of Harry into its brain.

Harry looked around – he didn't see anyone who could possibly come and claim the dog as their own. His heart went out to the little mutt – he knew how it felt to not have some food or drink for a long time at a stretch. He moved back to his trunk, extracted what remained of Mrs Weasley's Pumpkin Pasties, and offered one to the dog. The dog looked between him and the Pasty in his hand for a moment, then gave a small joyful bark and devoured the pie in one go.

Harry laughed; even though he didn't know who it belonged to or where it came from, the enthusiasm of the dog was quite infectious. The second Pasty ended up the same way as the first, and so did the third, when Harry noticed he was out of the pies.

'Sorry boy, I'm afraid I don't have any more,' he whispered to the dog. The dog barked again – one could almost mistake it for a laugh – before giving his hand a lick and settling down near his feet. Harry chuckled again, moving his hand to scratch the dog behind its ears, an act which the dog found extremely pleasing, if its moans were anything to go by.

'So where are you from, hmm?' asked Harry, still scratching the dog behind its ears; the dog moaned quietly again. 'You don't seem to have a collar, and I know for a fact that none of the folks here have a dog.'

The dog gave another bark – almost as if it were saying, 'Good job Harry!'

Harry snorted. He was sure he was imagining things – he doubted whether the dog could really understand him in the first place, and if it did, whether it could respond the way he thought it did respond.

Then again, Hedwig could definitely understand him – or at least he thought she could – so it wouldn't be such a stretch to assume that this dog could comprehend what he was saying as well.

Harry's hand suddenly stiffened and paused in the petting of the dog, a curious thought spreading through him. What if this dog was magical? Did it belong to another wizard or witch in the area? If it did, why did it escape from there? Or worse…was it from the Ministry? Some sort of a scout, sent ahead by the Ministry representatives to let down his guard.

The dog had noticed his momentary pause – it looked up at him and gave another whine. Harry stared back at the dog, his mind whirring with possibilities and potential theories, each more irrational and fantastical than the previous – when suddenly, not for the first time that night, his neck was assaulted with a funny prickling feeling.

There was no mistaking it this time – he was definitely being watched. And not just by another stray animal – he could sense, rather than see, another person standing where the dog had stood not more than five minutes ago. He slowly got to his feet, assuming another duelling stance that allowed for quick movement – just in case he needed to get away.

' _Lumos_ ,' he muttered again, and for the second time that night, the walls of number two gleamed brightly in the light from his wand; and this time, he could just about make out, quite distinctly, the large, hulking outline of a tall person, but his face was shrouded in the darkness. If only the person could step forward just a bit more, Harry would know who it was…

The dog, however, seemed to have recognized the person almost instantaneously; hackles raised, it bared its teeth and growled quite menacingly at the intruder. Amidst the growls, Harry could discern a low, raspy chuckle coming from the intruder – it was a man, and he clearly wasn't too intimidated by the dog's growls. Harry wasn't sure what this person was playing at; he knew he would have been quite scared if a dog like this had bared its teeth at him rather threateningly.

And then the man stepped out from the shadows into the light – and Harry's stomach churned with surprise, shock, and most of all, fear.

He was a large, vicious-looking man, with matted grey hair and whiskers; his arms and chest were thick and bulging against his rather tight robes, a wand held loosely in his right hand. But what repulsed Harry the most was his face: his eyes were a deep blood-red in colour, and he had sharp, pointed teeth, almost rivalling those of the dog. His mouth was currently twisted in something between a snarl and a smirk – as if he was overjoyed at cornering his prey at last, but disgusted that he had to finish it in such a place.

Harry thought the term 'prey' which his mind had used while describing the man's expression was rather appropriate – he looked positively beastly. The man raised his left hand to scratch at his face, apparently deep in thought, and Harry suddenly noticed his long, yellowing fingernails, adding to his bestial appearance.

Harry was, at that moment, extremely glad that he'd adopted a stance that allowed him to run if he needed to.

He just didn't count on his trunk being right behind him.

Harry stepped backwards, and promptly tripped over his open trunk. His wand flew out of his hand, and he flung an arm out to break his fall as he landed, hard, on the edge of the sidewalk.

Just then, several things happened almost at once.

The dog gave a thunderous bark, and rushed towards where the man was standing. Its teeth were completely bared, the look in its eyes feral as it went for the kill.

The man shifted his stance so fluidly; Harry wouldn't have noticed it even if he had been able to. From a position of apparent thought, the man was on all fours in a blink of an eye, and with an animalistic howl of rage, charged straight towards the dog.

There was a very loud, deafening BANG – Harry first thought was that it was from the collision between the dog and the man. He raised his head – he'd slammed it onto the sidewalk when he'd tripped over his trunk – and, despite his grogginess, looked on in astonishment at the scene before him.

The BANG he'd heard had definitely been from a collision – but it certainly hadn't come from the coming together of the dog and the bestial man. A triple-decker, violently purple bus had just appeared in front of him out of nowhere. Gold lettering above the windows of the first floor of the bus spelled _The Knight Bus_.

Harry looked further down the street; it appeared as if the man had been knocked down the road by the bus. Harry was sure the man would be unconscious after such a fall, but to his amazement, the man slowly got to his feet, albeit unsteadily. He looked around for a minute, as if searching for something, before walking off down the road as if he hadn't just been hit by a bus.

For a moment, Harry wondered if he had been knocked silly by his fall: _no one_ could have survived such a collision, much less get up after being hit without so much as a scratch, and nonchalantly just walk off. Then a conductor in a purple uniform – comically identical to the purple of the bus – leapt out of the back door and began speaking loudly into the night.

Harry barely paid any attention to him: he was still wondering how on earth the man had survived that crash. His pondering led to another question – _what happened to the dog?_

He got up rather suddenly, and was forced to steady himself from a bout of head-rush. Ignoring the calls from the conductor – who'd just realized that his passenger had been on the ground and hadn't heard a word of what he'd been spouting off – Harry moved around to stare at the now-darkened alleyway. His eyes and ears strained to make out any sign of the dog's presence – any movement in the shadows, any small moan or whine.

Five minutes later, however, he was forced to accept that the dog had simply vanished. Harry made his way back to his trunk, thoroughly confused with the events that night. Why had the dog charged at the man? Did it know him – was he a former owner of the dog? Was the dog a magical creature – maybe that could explain how it seemed to understand every word Harry had said. And most importantly – how on _earth_ did that man survive that collision?

The conductor's shrill voice cut through his thoughts. 'Woss with you?'

'Nothing, nothing,' replied Harry distractedly. The enormity of his current predicament – on the run from the Ministry of Magic for blowing up his aunt – hit him like a sack of bricks, and the panic he'd felt earlier was slowly setting in.

'Well, you did flag us down, dincha?' asked the conductor. 'Stuck out your wand 'and, dincha?'

'Wand hand?' repeated Harry. The conductor gave him a funny look, and he quickly backtracked. 'Oh! I mean – yes, I did flag you down, of course. Where – where do you go anyway?'

The conductor was now looking at him extremely suspiciously, but he answered anyway. 'We can take you anywhere you like, long's it's on land. Can't do nuffink underwater, though,' he added wistfully, as though it was a matter of great shame.

'Any – _anywhere_? Wow, that's pretty impressive,' said Harry quickly, hoping that a bit of flattery would distract the conductor enough from his suspicious looks.

It did the trick; the conductor now wore a proud expression on his face. 'Ar, the Knight Bus at your service – Stan Shunpike as your conductor an' Ernie Prang at the wheel.'

'Listen,' Harry interjected before Stan could go on a monologue about the Knight Bus, 'how much would it be to get to Diagon Alley?'

Harry paid the required number of silver Sickles to Stan, who helped him manoeuvre his trunk and Hedwig's cage inside the bus. As he sat down on one of the brass-bedsteads on the ground level deck, right behind Ernie's armchair, he thought he'd had enough drama for the night.

How very wrong he was.

* * *

To say that Harry was enjoying his new-found freedom from the Dursleys' would be a massive understatement.

Granted, he was only allowed to wander around Diagon Alley, but he felt absolutely no desire to break his word to Cornelius Fudge, and stray back into the Muggle world. He'd been to Diagon Alley only twice since he'd joined Hogwarts as a scrawny eleven-year old kid, but the long cobbled street, with its many shops and peddlers still fascinated him to no end.

It took Harry several days to get used to this strange new feeling of liberty from the strict schedules and routines the Dursleys' had imposed upon him during his stay there. He could now wake up whenever he wanted, eat whatever he wanted, and most of all, _do_ whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. The feeling was a bit foreign to him, and he knew he would only be there for three weeks before he had to board the Hogwarts Express on September 1, but he was determined to make the most of it.

After topping up his money bag with golden Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts from his Gringotts vault, Harry had to forcefully remind himself that, despite the fortune that awaited him in the bowels of London, he still had five more years of schooling to finish, and it wouldn't do for him to ask the Dursleys for money to buy spellbooks and the like. So it was with a certain amount of steadfast resolve that he went about making his necessary purchases for the coming school year without going overboard – potions ingredients from the apothecary, including some interesting substitutes suggested by his _'Potions and Potioneering'_ book; new robes and Muggle clothes from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions; and most importantly, he had to buy his new school books, which would include those for his two new subjects, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination.

Scratch that: he only needed the new book for Divination, apart from the usual additions. He'd consulted his book list almost as soon as it had come, wondering if he'd already purchased some of those books during his ordering spree earlier in the summer. He'd been disappointed when none of his purchases had turned up on the list – but pleasantly surprised when the Monster Book of Monsters was on the list as his Care of Magical Creatures textbook. He'd also felt quite relieved – Hagrid would have just as likely sent him a textbook as he would have sent him a book for helping him with a new pet of his.

A loud ripping noise greeted Harry as he entered Flourish and Blotts. The bookstore, which usually had a display of gold-embossed glossy spellbooks the size of paving slabs near the window, had instead a large iron cage, which held about a hundred copies of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ – or at least what was left of them anyway. The scene inside the iron cage was absolute bedlam – torn pages were flying everywhere as the books, as vicious and unruly as Harry recalled them to be based on his experience with his copy – which was still safely belted tight and locked in his school trunk – snapped, growled and grappled furiously and aggressively with each other.

Harry noticed the manager of the store hurrying towards him, while his assistant drew on a pair of very thick gloves, picked up a rather large knobbly walking stick and headed towards the iron cage, his face and gait betraying his apprehension about the confrontation with the _Monster Books_.

'Hang on,' said Harry quickly, 'I've already got one of those.'

A look of enormous relief spread across the assistant's face as he stripped off the gloves, dropped the walking stick, and promptly went over to attend to a group of students who had just entered the shop.

'Thank heavens for that, my boy. It's been an absolute nightmare, I tell you! Why anyone would want to set this as a textbook, I'll never know! I'll tell you this though: we're never stocking them again, never! Been bitten five times already this morning, I have…'

The manager's voice tuned out as Harry opened his booklist, carefully scanning it to see what else he would need. He looked back up to catch the manager's attention – who was now going about some Invisible Book of Invisibility and the massive loss he'd made on them – when he paused.

 _What are the odds…?_

There was a book among a display on a small table to the side from where he was: _Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming_. If the title wasn't foreboding enough, the front cover of the book had a picture of a great black dog, with shaggy fur and eyes gleaming in the dark background of the book's cover. He recognized the dog almost immediately: it was the same one he'd petted and spoken to all those nights ago on Magnolia Crescent.

'Excuse me,' said Harry, interrupting the manager's ramblings. The manager snapped his mouth shut with a mildly affronted expression, as if he'd been denied the pleasure of chattering away on his misfortunes.

'What is that dog doing on that book there?' Harry pointed to the _Death Omens_ book.

The manager blanched as he followed the direction of Harry's finger, and turned back to Harry, his face betraying a mixture of his trepidation and apprehension.

'Well, that's the Grim of course.' His voice had dropped to almost a whisper; Harry had to strain to hear it properly amidst the babbling issuing from the group of students at the front of the store. 'It's an omen of death – people who see it have been found dead after twenty-four hours.' He paused, a worried and anxious expression on his face. 'You – you haven't seen that anywhere have you?'

Harry instantly knew that saying 'yes' would bring about a world of unnecessary consequences, so he wisely kept his mouth shut and shook his head.

'Well, that's good then,' breathed the manager, relief etching his facial features. 'I wouldn't read that book if I were you, though,' he continued, as Harry looked back at the book once more. 'You'll start seeing death omens everywhere; it's enough to frighten anyone to death.'

'Does this have anything to do with Divination?' asked Harry.

'But of course!' replied the manager, evidently glad that the conversation had steered itself into safer waters. 'Looking for future omens in tea cups and crystal balls is one of the main exercises in that subject; mind, you'd be hard pressed to find a Seer who doesn't advocate such stuff.'

'A Seer?

'Someone who can predict the future. All Seers are magical, of course. Them Muggles who claim to look into future – ha! A bunch of tricksters of frauds they are – yes sir, very much so!'

The manager had now seized onto the topic of fake and fraudulent Muggle Seers, so Harry took this opportunity to look at the dog again. It had an uncanny resemblance to the canine he'd interacted with on Magnolia Crescent, and despite logic screaming at him otherwise, he somehow knew that one of his initial suspicions from that night had just be confirmed.

That dog was definitely magical.

Question was - had he really seen an omen of death that night on Magnolia Crescent?

The manager lightly tapped Harry on his shoulder.

'Anything else?' he said

'Yes,' said Harry, tearing his eyes away from the dog's gleaming ones, and dazedly returning to his booklist once again. 'I need – um – _Intermediate Transfiguration_ , _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three_ , and –' he consulted the list once more, '- _Unfogging the Future_ , by _Cassandra Vablatsky_.'

'Ah, starting Divination, are you? I wondered why you'd asked that question earlier about omens,' said the manager, as he climbed a set of steps to take down a thick black-bound book from the back of the shop. 'Here you are. Very good guide to all your basic fortune-telling methods – palmistry, crystal balls, tea leaves, bird entrails…'

'Hi Harry!'

Harry turned around to someone calling him from the front of the shop. Hannah Abbott was standing there, waving frantically at him with a huge smile on her face, with who Harry assumed must be her parents. Her blonde hair was done up in her typical pigtails, although, Harry noticed, it seemed a little longer, and she'd gotten a fringe as well. He waved back to her, indicating that he would be with them in a minute after collecting his books.

As he made his way to where she stood with her parents, arms laden with his new books, he noticed the similarities between Hannah and her mother: they had the same round, kindly face – not unlike Mrs. Weasley's – the same warm, radiating smile, and the same soft nose. Her eyes, however, were that of her father's, who was standing there with a rather stern look on his rugged face. Harry observed that while Hannah's blue eyes were full of warmth, her father's looked rather firm. He had the sudden urge to maintain a safe distance from Mr. Abbott as quickly as he could.

'Hi Hannah.' He greeted her with a wave of his own.

'Fancy seeing you here this early, Harry! How have you been? Goodness, you've grown a lot over this summer haven't you? Speaking of which, how were your holidays? Did you have fun? Did you get –' Hannah was, to Harry's relief, interrupted by her mother clearing her throat.

'You must be Harry Potter,' she said, extending her hand out to shake Harry's hand. 'Hannah's told us a lot about you this summer.'

'Oh, um, I see. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Abbott,' stuttered Harry. He couldn't imagine why people would want to talk about him during their summer holidays. He cast an inquisitive glance towards Hannah, who had turned a bright shade of red at her mother's words and refused to meet his eyes.

'Indeed. It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Potter,' said Mr. Abbott in a characteristically deep voice, as he now shook Harry's hand. Somehow, Harry felt that it wouldn't be a wise move to cross Mr. Abbott. His blue eyes were stern and sharp; Harry got the impression that he was being x-rayed quite thoroughly. He was broad chested, with rather muscular arms (as Harry made out from the extremely crushing grip during the handshake). He had long hair which he swept back and tied into a small ponytail. A single ear-ring dangled from his left ear, giving Harry an impression of a rather cool, yet fierce, no-nonsense person.

Once again, Harry reminded himself not to get on the wrong side of Mr. Abbott, for whatever reason.

'Have you finished your shopping Mr. Potter?' asked Mrs. Abbott kindly. Harry nodded hesitantly and turned around, where the manager of Flourish and Blotts had, by this time, ringed up Harry's purchases at the counter and stored them away in a rather large book bag. Harry settled the bill – including the balance from his summer acquisitions (6 Galleons and 8 Sickles), before returning to his conversation with the Abbotts.

'Yes, Mrs. Abbott, I'm done for today, thank you,' he said with all the politeness he could muster. He made to turn around once again to head out of the shop, when Mr. Abbott's large hand landed on his shoulder.

'Do join us for lunch, why don't you? Unless you've already eaten, of course.'

Harry gulped. It was one thing to speak to a girl without stuttering and stammering – he later attributed this to his abysmal social skills – but to speak to the parents of the said girl who, incidentally, had been talking about him for most of the summer was a different story altogether. As he conjured up what he felt was a calm, accepting smile, he only hoped that the afternoon wouldn't end badly.

* * *

By the end of the meal, Harry had to admit that his fears about dining with the Abbotts were completely unfounded. Lunch turned out to be a pleasant affair at the Leaky Cauldron, where Tom, the wizened, toothless landlord had insisted on serving all of Harry's favourites, free of charge. They made their way through quite a sumptuous three-course meal, rounded off with a treacle tart that Harry swore rivalled that of the Hogwarts' feasts. Conversation between Harry and the Abbotts was also calm, with barely a mention of the adventures and happenings of the past year at school.

The Abbotts, as Harry found out, lived right outside London in Windsor and Maidenhead. Mr. Henry Abbott was a wizard who worked as part of the Accident Reversal Squad in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes at the Ministry of Magic. From what Harry could surmise, his job was to conduct repairs for damages caused by wizarding accidents – ranging from out-of-control broomsticks to people Splinching themselves.

'I'm sorry – what? Splinching?'

Mr. Abbott gave Harry a funny look, as if he was questioning the latter's sanity because he didn't know what Splinching was.

'Yes, Splinching,' said Hannah quickly, clearly looking to diffuse any unwanted tension. 'When people Apparate – that's disappearing from one place and reappearing in another almost instantaneously – they may sometimes leave some body parts behind.'

Harry had the sudden image of a pair of eyeballs and an arm casually lying on the sidewalk of Privet Drive, and grimaced.

'Daddy's job there is to restore those poor people's body parts before any Muggles find them first. It's a bit difficult though – there's a lot of blood involved –' Harry noticed Hannah shuddering involuntarily '– not to mention the hysterical state these people end up in, which makes it even tougher to track down their starting point of Apparation.'

'Have any Muggles actually found these…parts first, before the Ministry did?' asked Harry curiously.

'Once,' intoned Mr. Abbott with a grimace of his own. 'Horrible day, that was. Probably the worst of my career.'

And he refused to say any more on the subject.

Mrs. Clementine Abbott was, to Harry's surprise, a Muggle, who'd grown up in the French city of Marseille. Mr. Abbott had met her while he'd been called to Toulouse by the French Ministry for an emergency. She'd only known of the existence of the wizarding world after she'd married Mr. Abbott.

'It doesn't bother me,' she said with a laugh, and only then did Harry notice the slightest tinge of a French accent in her speech. 'I do not mind doing things at home the – what do you call it? – Muggle way, I'm quite used to it.'

Hannah's parents shared a look, and at that instant, Harry was strongly reminded of a similar look he'd seen on his parents' faces, in one of the photographs in the photo album of his parents that Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year. He suddenly felt a deep sense of sadness and longing for the life he'd never had, and for the parents he'd never had the chance to meet.

'Harry? Are you alright?' Hannah's concerned face came into view.

'Huh?'

Hannah was still staring at him concernedly. 'You seemed to have phased out for a minute there.'

'What – oh. Sorry, just thinking about something else,' he stammered out, taking a huge gulp of water to hide his embarrassment at his lack of attention and his display of weakness.

 _It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live._ Professor Dumbledore's words echoed in the recesses of his mind, as he gave a watery smile and re-joined the conversation.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Harry found himself saying goodbye to the Abbotts before heading upstairs to his room in the Leaky Cauldron. Sunlight was streaming in through the open windows; it appeared that someone had come in to clean up his room. He dumped the heavy book bag from Flourish and Blotts, the ingredients from the Apothecary, his robes from Madam Malkin's, and the other items he'd purchased on top of his trunk and looked out onto the cobbled street of Diagon Alley. Harry could hear the sounds of the buses rolling by on the unseen Muggle roads behind him, interspersed with the cacophony of the crowds in Diagon Alley.

He was just about to turn back towards his room when he saw it - again.

A large dog with shaggy black fur was skulking in the narrow alley between two tall buildings in Diagon Alley; Harry noticed that the structures marked the entrance to Knockturn Alley at the far side of the street. His hands gripped the window-sill tightly, his mind racing and his heart thumping wildly…

'No way,' he whispered to himself.

As he continued to stare out the window, the dog turned its head from side to side, as if looking out for something. Satisfied that nothing was behind it, the canine lay down on the alley on all fours and closed its eyes; for all Harry knew, it had gone straight to sleep.

Something about the presence of the dog, coupled with his conversation with the manager of Flourish and Blotts earlier that day, convinced Harry to go down there and meet the dog once more. Who knows, maybe this time, it wouldn't result in him having a –

 _Don't think about that_ , said his mind forcefully. _That was just a coincidence._

More importantly, as his mind just realized, he had been wondering about where the dog had disappeared off to after the events of that night. Now, he had a chance to find out.

A sudden noise behind him made him quickly jump around: his books had fallen off the top of his trunk and were now strewn about on the floor. He looked back onto the street, to make sure that the dog was still lying down at the same place.

To his relief, oddly, the dog was still there.

Five minutes of staring later, the dog was still there.

Satisfied that the dog wasn't about to go anywhere any time soon, Harry turned away from the window to go out to Diagon Alley once more that day. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above the basin in his room; he looked a lot better than he had those first few weeks with the Dursleys. Tom the landlord had insisted on feeding Harry up with extra servings at every meal for no extra charge. Harry had complained at first about his actions being too kind, but Tom had waved it off brusquely.

''S no big deal, Mr Potter. Those relatives of yours don't seem to be doing a good job of feeding you – you're a growing boy, for Merlin's sake! You need feeding, and don't you say no anymore,' he added quickly as Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, 'I'm not having it here, no sir!'

A few days later, however, Harry was appreciating the strict yet friendly way Tom had adopted to get him to eat more – he no longer looked like a 'scrawny, specky git', as Ron had so eloquently put it sometime back in second year. His new Muggle clothes from Madam Malkin's also fit him extremely well – the cast-offs from Dudley were now resting at the bottom of his trunk.

Harry had also noticed a subtle change in himself – he _felt_ different. And it was a good different – he was a lot more confident and sure about himself, and he moved around a lot more freely than earlier. He supposed this had to do with his new clothes and his refined…physique, for lack of a better word. Of course, he was still shy of mingling with large crowds, but he was slowly and surely getting over it.

He raised his hand automatically and tried to make his hair lie flat.

'You're fighting a losing battle there, my dear,' said his mirror in a wheezy voice.

Harry glared at the mirror before exiting his room.

Tom whistled appreciatively as he re-entered the bar downstairs.

'Looking good, Mr Potter.' Harry's face reddened; Tom took the opportunity to needle him further: 'Going out for a date?'

If possible, Harry turned red even more as he spluttered to answer; he probably could have rivalled the Weasley red for the shade his face and neck now sported.

Tom let out a loud guffaw and waved him on to the back door, where the entrance to Diagon Alley was located.

'Off you go then,' chuckled the toothless landlord. 'Remember the rules, Mr Potter,' he said in a slightly raised voice as Harry disappeared behind the back door.

The archway to Diagon Alley opened with a tap of Harry's wand on the third brick from the left above the dustbin. Harry set off once more along the street. The blush from Tom's teasing had lessened, only to be replaced by, for some unknown reason, a feeling of apprehension which was slowly spreading through him. He forced his racing heartbeat to slow down as he approached the alleyway that separated Knockturn Alley from Diagon Alley.

 _Calm down_ , he told himself silently. _Just calm down._

Yet he could not control the slight quickening of his pace as he dodged shoppers going through their last purchases for the afternoon. He all but ignored the usual crowd around _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ which was, once again, surrounding the Firebolt – this was the first time during his stay in the Leaky Cauldron where he hadn't seen the new broomstick on each visit to Diagon Alley – sidestepped a wizard who was muttering about the exorbitant prices of Boomslang skin, passed a group of chattering students, one of who held the perfect, moving model of the galaxy he'd been tempted by earlier that week.

The number of people around him seemed to increase exponentially as he neared the alley…he could almost see the front paws of the dog now, even as he was jostled around by the crowd; his heart was pounding in his ears – why, he had no idea, even years later…he was almost there –

' _Look out!_ '

' _Watch it!_ '

Harry whirled around – someone had tripped while exiting the apothecary nearby, his cauldron flying from his hand, its contents soaring up into the air in a graceful arc, before the thick, yellowish-green liquid fell from its peak, right onto where Harry stood, frozen…


	4. Chapter 3: Diagon Alley - Again

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter series.**

 **Recognizable portions from this chapter have been taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, by J.K. Rowling**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Diagon Alley…Again**

 **Previously, on The Marauders' Return…**

 _The number of people around him seemed to increase exponentially as he neared the alley…he could almost see the front paws of the dog now, even as he was jostled around by the crowd; his heart was pounding in his ears – why, he had no idea, even years later…he was almost there –_

' _Look out!'_

' _Watch it!'_

 _Harry whirled around – someone had tripped while exiting the apothecary nearby, his cauldron flying from his hand, its contents soaring up into the air in a graceful arc, before the thick, yellowish-green liquid fell from its peak, right onto where Harry stood, frozen…_

* * *

And then his mind kicked into gear.

' _PROTEGO!_ '

A huge shimmering shield appeared out of the tip of Harry's wand, seconds before the thick, foul-looking – and foul-smelling too, Harry dimly noted in the back of his mind – liquid would have made contact with him; it splashed against the shield before falling onto the ground.

Harry made sure he was safe before he removed the shield, breathing heavily from the exertion of producing such a large barrier and maintaining it for almost twenty seconds. He'd read about shield charms over the summer, of course, and he'd been eagerly awaiting his return to Hogwarts so that he could try it out. But he hadn't anticipated that he would have needed to use it a good two weeks before that, at Diagon Alley of all places.

The crowd around the apothecary had increased by that point: shouts of 'What was that?' and 'Did you see that shield?!' accompanied the usual cries of 'Look, it's Harry Potter!' Harry groaned as he heard the exclamations of surprise and did his best to block out the noise – he did _not_ want to be the center of attention once again, especially for something as trivial as producing a shield charm –

Producing a shield charm…

 _Bugger._

The crowd around the apothecary had swelled considerably; people were now talking in loud, raised voices about the incident with the liquid. Harry, for his part, was trying to steadfastly ignore the cacophony around him, as he came to terms with what could only be termed as a disastrous situation.

He had done magic – again. In broad daylight, in front of so many witnesses, he'd performed a spell. And this time there wouldn't be any escape: there was no one who could help him right now. He was surely going to be expelled from Hogwarts, and making a run for it was out of the question.

The crowd had increased, almost effectively boxing him in…He'd lost his chance to get away – they were going to come for him and snap his wand…Maybe he could go and help Hagrid at Hogwarts, become an assistant gamekeeper while his friends would go on to become full-fledged wizards and witches…

 _I'm doomed._

A rather loud screech announced the arrival of a quite regal-looking barn owl. It landed rather gracefully in front of him before turning to face him fully; and Harry, hands now trembling with fear, removed the official-looking letter from its beak. Its duty done, the owl ruffled its feathers importantly and took off into the sky.

Harry paid it no mind – he was staring, transfixed, at the front of the envelope, which was addressed to him in bright green ink:

 _Mr H. Potter_

 _Room 11, The Leaky Cauldron_

 _Charing Cross Road_

 _London_

The trembling of his hands had increased tenfold as he stared at the thick parchment envelope. He knew what was inside, yet he didn't want to look at it; his mouth was dry, his lips suddenly parched, longing for the sip of water he'd last had at Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour so many hours ago. He sank to the ground, his legs unable to support his weight…

With a feeling of mingled dread and fear, he slowly slit the envelope open and pulled out the letter inside; his heart now pounding away somewhere in the region of his Adam's apple.

 _Dear Mr Potter,_

 _We have received intelligence that you performed the Basic Shield Charm at thirty-four minutes past three this afternoon in Diagon Alley._

 _While this would not be a punishable offence under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy, the performance of this spell amounts to a breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C. This breach has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be arriving at your current location shortly to destroy your wand._

 _Hoping you are well,_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Mafalda Hopkirk_

 _Improper Use of Magic Office_

 _Ministry of Magic_

An icy numb feeling was spreading through Harry's chest as he read through the letter once, twice, and then a third time. And each time, the same words kept popping up from the parchment, even as he desperately hoped that it would somehow change after reading it again and again –

' _This breach has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'_

He looked up from his letter at the now-sizeable crowd around apothecary – someone had had the common sense to clean up the thick yellowish-green liquid before anyone else came in contact with it; people were now clamouring to be heard over the general din of the shoppers in Diagon Alley; Harry could vaguely make out the outline of the owner of the apothecary yelling at someone with _pink hair_ , the latter looking quite chastised at the entire affair.

Harry's brain seemed to awaken from the temporary stupefied state it had been in, and looked back down at the letter still in his hand. _Ministry representatives will be arriving at your current location shortly to destroy your wand_ … There was nothing else to do for it: he would have to run once again. There was no way he was going to give up his wand.

Ironic, really, that he was being expelled for something as harmless as a self-protecting shield, and not for blowing up Aunt Marge.

Before he could even rise up on his feet and get away from the crowd, however, there was a rather loud CRACK in the immediate vicinity. A sudden hush fell over the onlookers: it was rather like someone had accidentally pressed the mute button on the remote that controlled everyone else.

The crowd slowly parted as the newcomers made their way through the throng – and Harry's eyes soon fell on the 'someone' who'd silenced everyone.

Harry's first thought when he saw her was that she looked just like a large, pale toad. She was rather squat, with a broad, flabby face, as little neck as Uncle Vernon and a very wide, slack mouth. She had wide, round and bulging eyes, and, despite appearing to be a fully qualified witch, was as tall as Harry was. She had short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes.

But what actually made Harry's blood go cold were the people that followed the squat, toad-like woman through the crowd.

Five wizards followed her in a steady march; each of them wore a deep purple robe with a black cloak fastened around their necks. The wizards were large and well-built, with rather unfriendly expressions on their faces – or what was left of them anyway. All of them had scars running across their faces in a haphazard manner – like someone had done a terrible job in trying to carve something out of them. The logo of the Ministry of Magic – a large golden 'M' over another, smaller one, imposed on a dark red background – was plainly visible on the left-hand chest of their robes. On the right-hand side, however, was the word _'MES'_ in glittering green – the sight of which confirmed Harry's suspicions and increased his dread exponentially.

 _The Magical Elite Squad_.

The Magical Elite Squad was a legend in the wizarding world – many people believed that they didn't even exist. The MES – as it was more informally known – had been constituted by Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold during the war against Voldemort. Led by Bartemius Crouch, the then Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, they had been trained in the most extreme manner possible in all kinds of magical combat and spell-casting, and were known for their ability to take down Dark forces and enemies effectively and efficiently. Only the best of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards were selected to join the squad – it was definitely not meant for the faint-hearted.

It was said that if you'd been cornered by the MES, you were definitely done for – save for Voldemort or Dumbledore, no soul alive could fight their way out of a duel against the squad members.

All in all, certainly not a welcoming sight for Harry.

' _Hem, hem.'_

The squat woman cleared her throat – a rather annoying sound that jarred Harry back from his fear-induced statue-like state to reality – before giving Harry a simpering smile, revealing very pointed teeth. Harry did not reciprocate.

She cleared her throat again ( _'hem, hem'_ ).

'Good evening Mr – Potter, isn't it?' she simpered. Her voice had a high-pitched, breathy and a little-girlish tone to it, and right then, Harry felt a rush of instant and intense loathing and dislike towards everything about her: from that ridiculous bow on her head, to the disgusting, fluffy, pink cardigan, to her stupid, girly voice.

'Well, Mr Potter, you've got yourself in a fine spot of trouble, haven't you?' she continued. Harry, once again, did not respond to her – he was alternating between staring at the woman in disgust, and glancing at the MES wizards with a certain amount of warranted trepidation.

If the woman was offended by his apparent ignorance of her words, she did not show it; instead, she proceeded to go ahead with her monologue, but some of the breathiness in her voice had vanished, and it sounded more business-like.

'Mr Potter, we received verifiable information that you had produced a Basic Shield Charm earlier this afternoon. This means that you have committed your second breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, which has resulted in your automatic expulsion from Hogwarts School. As Ministry representatives, we have been authorized with the task of destroying your wand as well. Please hand it over immediately.' She stretched out her hand, beckoning Harry to give up his wand to her. Harry noticed the numerous rings that adorned her short, stubby fingers, and felt another wave of repulsion hit him.

The crowd had gasped as the woman had intoned about Harry's expulsion from Hogwarts: partly because getting expelled and having your wand destroyed was a serious issue, and partly because it was Harry Potter who was involved in the whole affair. Harry dimly noticed many of the heads swing back and forth between the woman and him, almost as if they were watching a tennis match at Wimbledon.

Harry took an involuntary step backwards from the woman – he couldn't remember being this repulsed by anyone in his life, and he'd grown up with the Dursleys and had Draco Malfoy as his schoolmate. His right hand involuntarily went to the pocket of his jeans, where he'd stowed his wand after casting the shield, more out of protecting it than anything else.

The woman noticed his movement; she gave him another smirk as she stepped forward to counter his step back.

'Your wand, Mr Potter,' she repeated, the breathiness returning again slightly. Harry dimly noted that the MES members were yet to make a move: he surmised that their presence was more for guarding the toad-like woman than for arresting and taking him away.

'What is going on here?'

For the second time that evening, the crowd parted – this time on the right, from the apothecary itself – to allow the newcomer to arrive at the scene. Compared to the group that the toad-like woman had brought along, the second person's entourage could not have been more different.

The speaker was a woman who looked extremely foreboding. She was a rather tall woman, with a square jaw, closely cropped hair (Harry could see a few grey ones poking out from underneath her hat) and a monocle on her left eye. Her eyebrows were creased into a frown, the monocle digging into her skin under her eyebrow as she took in the scene before her.

Her companions also sported similar expressions on their faces: a tall, dark-skinned man with a single golden hoop in his left ear had a pensive look; a young, black-haired woman with pink cheeks was also frowning and muttering softly to herself. There was also a pink-haired woman who, unlike the others, looked decidedly morose: her pale, heart-shaped face looked forlorn, and her eyes were downcast. Harry recognized her from earlier: she'd been the target of the apothecary owner's ire for the liquid being spilt. His eyes roved over the each of the people who'd followed the monocle-wearing witch through the crowd, and came to rest on –

 _Susan?_

There was no mistaking it – Susan Bones was standing at the back of the group, slightly struggling with the weight of two heavy bags, containing what looked like loads of books and possibly Potions' ingredients. She'd cut her red hair short to shoulder length, a change which Harry thought made her look quite cute.

Apparently realizing that someone was watching her, Susan lifted her head, her brown eyes locking with Harry's piercing green ones. She held his gaze for a good moment, before raising her left eyebrow in a questioning pose, just as her mouth decidedly curved into a mischievous smirk.

The question was crystal clear: _What on earth did you do this time?_

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry couldn't help but grin back slightly at her smirk. He had realized that, despite being in Hufflepuff – who were known to be quiet, hard-workers – Susan had quite the devilish, mischievous streak within her. She could have easily rivalled the Weasley twins in terms of pranking people, but instead preferred to take a back-seat and just watch the show unfold. In fact, Harry had a strong suspicion that she'd been the one to suggest the decoration prank which Fred, George and Lee had executed to perfection at the end of last term.

'Well, Madam Amelia Bones, what a pleasant surprise.' The girlish voice of the toad-woman, sounding anything but pleased, broke through Harry's thoughts; the surname of the second square-jawed woman caused him to mimic the crowd's earlier actions in swivelling his head between Amelia Bones and Susan. The latter had now dropped her bags unceremoniously by her feet, and was staring at the toad-woman with an expression of deep disgust.

Harry glanced back at the toad-woman; she was definitely surprised by the intrusion, but was clearly less than pleased about the whole affair. His suspicion about a possible mutual dislike between the two women – and Susan too, if her glare was anything to go by – was confirmed almost immediately by the look on Amelia Bones' face.

'Dolores Umbridge,' intoned Madam Bones coolly, still frowning at the woman before her.

 _Ah, so her name was Umbridge._

Madam Bones' gaze lingered for just a while longer on Umbridge, who seemed to deflate almost slightly under its intensity, before it swept over the five MES wizards standing behind Umbridge. Her frown, if possible, deepened even more at the sight of them, and she arched one questioning eyebrow at the unofficial leader of the Squad there – a tall, broad-chested man with short-cropped brown hair and steel-grey eyes. The wizard, who just moments earlier had seemed so intimidating to Harry, appeared to deflate at a much quicker rate than Umbridge under Madam Bones' scrutiny. The rest of his comrades dropped their heads quickly, having the good grace to look abashed and chastised – all without a single word being told to them.

 _Blimey, she's good._

Harry noticed Susan smirking again at the behaviour of the MES wizards – clearly she was as amused as Harry was surprised. To have the ability and authority to effectively quell the bravado of the MES wizards spoke of someone much higher up in the entire hierarchy that was the Ministry, someone who was definitely not to be trifled with.

Umbridge's face had contorted into a highly irritated expression: clearly she did not like being usurped in any position of authority, especially in a highly public place. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by Madam Bones' booming voice.

'I'll ask again, Dolores, what is going on here?'

Umbridge seemed to have lost some of her courage, but she stood her ground and glared defiantly at Madam Bones.

'I've come here to destroy Harry Potter's wand.'

There was no mistaking it – a discernible, audible gasp had arisen from the crowd. Destroying a wizard's or witch's wand was a huge affair. Destroying Harry Potter's wand – the wand that belonged to the saviour of the wizarding world – made the term 'huge' seem like a massive understatement.

Harry noticed Susan whirl her head to stare at him now, her eyes expressing her disbelief and shock at the statement. For his part, he had no idea what to say to her – as far as he knew, he had performed magic outside school while he was still underage, and was therefore expelled from school

Madam Bones, however, looked utterly calm and composed at the declaration; if she was stunned by Umbridge's words, she didn't show it.

 _She's definitely good._

'He performed a spell a little while ago,' continued Umbridge, her voice reverting to the annoying, simpering tone. 'And that was his second breach of the Decree, which has resulted in his expulsion from Hogwarts. Surely you're aware of the law, Amelia?'

Despite knowing that he was definitely expelled, hearing those words from that toad-woman's mouth made Harry's blood boil, yet he was filled with a sense of despair. What chance did he have right now to get out of this?

'I think you're quite wrong there, Dolores,' came a quiet voice.

Harry turned his head so fast he almost cricked his neck – Albus Dumbledore was striding down the street through the gap in the crowd, wearing robes of deep plum and a perfectly calm, even jovial, expression. His silver beard and hair gleamed in the sunlight that filtered through the slightly cloudy sky. His half-moon glasses were, as usual, perched upon the end of his rather crooked nose, and he gave a kindly smile to Harry as he drew level with him – a smile which Harry was too stunned to return.

 _Dumbledore? Here? What are the odds?_

Umbridge looked flustered at the appearance of Hogwarts' most decorated Headmaster. 'Wr-wrong, Professor Dumbledore? I don't see – how - ?'

'No doubt, Harry did indeed perform a spell a little while ago,' Dumbledore cut across Umbridge's stutters, 'but this would not be his second breach of the Decree.'

The crowd, which had erupted into mutters at the arrival of Dumbledore, were now completely silent at that statement; Harry could have a heard a pin drop on the street.

'In fact,' continued Dumbledore jovially, 'going by the letter of the law, it would not even be his first breach.'

If the situation weren't so serious, Harry would have laughed at the expression on Umbridge's and everyone else's faces. Umbridge looked thunderstruck – her eyes were popping out of their sockets, and Harry could swear he saw a vein throbbing on her temple, not unlike the purple vein of Uncle Vernon that often served as a warning sign.

Madam Bones' visage was not any less humorous; neither were those that the MES wizards and the people that accompanied Madam Bones sported. Susan, however, had less self-control than Harry: her body was shaking with silent laughs, and she'd stuffed her fist in her mouth to control the outburst.

'Not-not his first breach?' repeated Umbridge. She seemed to have regained some of her bravado. 'Might I remind you, Professor Dumbledore, that the Ministry has evidence of a Hover Charm performed at his house a little over a year ago –'

'The Hover Charm was performed by a house-elf who was present at Harry's residence at that time,' interrupted Dumbledore yet again. 'Surely the Improper Use of Magic Office has the ability to detect the difference between house-elf magic and wizarding magic, doesn't it Madam Bones?' he inquired of the monocle-wearing witch as he turned to her.

'Quite right, Dumbledore,' responded Madam Bones, without removing her eyes off Umbridge, who now looked quite irritated, yet again, with the turn of events.

'Now see here, Dumbledore,' she said rather forcefully; Harry noted that she'd dropped all pretences of formality towards the wizened Headmaster. 'I am not here to discuss the workings of the Improper Use of Magic Office. This boy –' she pointed at Harry with one stubby, ring-adorned finger '– has performed magic outside school for the second time as per his record, and is therefore liable to be expelled, with his wand also liable to be destroyed!'

'And are you aware of the circumstances that caused him to perform the spell this time, Madam Umbridge?' Dumbledore had turned back to the squat woman, who was now breathing rapidly, an angry expression making its way onto her face.

'I – what – no – that is irrelevant, Dumbledore!'

'On the contrary,' smiled Dumbledore happily, 'it is extremely relevant. Tell me Harry,' said Dumbledore as he turned towards the teenaged boy, 'why did you perform the Basic Shield Charm?'

All eyes seemed to be on Harry now as Dumbledore posed the question. Gathering the courage that the House of Gryffindor was known for, he answered Dumbledore's question.

'There was – er – a cauldron-full of thick liquid heading straight for me, sir. I think someone had tripped and spilt it. I – er – didn't think, really, just reacted –'

'Don't lie, Mr Potter!' shrieked Umbridge, spraying spit out of her wide mouth; she looked positively wild now. Harry jumped back a bit at the interruption. Dumbledore, however, was unmoved; he was still giving Harry a gentle, grandfatherly smile as he squeezed Harry's shoulder lightly.

There was an instant uproar from the crowd: it seemed like they were considering it blasphemous that this toad-woman could accuse Harry Potter of lying, especially when most of them had actually witnessed the incident.

Umbridge looked shocked at this vociferous show of solidarity by the crowd. It appeared that she'd expected an easy 'grab them and get going' day with Harry's infringement; she'd been convinced he'd performed the spell just to show off his supposedly-pitiful magical skills to the people around him. Why else would someone perform a Basic Shield Charm, of all spells, in the middle of the day in front of so many people?

Dumbledore squeezed Harry's shoulder once again, then turned back to Umbridge, and for a moment, Harry thought the old professor was going to yell at the short woman. His gentle smile had disappeared, and his blue eyes – which to Harry seemed to be perennially twinkling – were now crackling with energy and _fury_.

Harry had never seen Dumbledore in an angry mood, and based on what he was seeing just then, he had no intention of ever being on the receiving end of Dumbledore's ire.

Umbridge literally deflated – this time completely. She seemed to have lost her entire bravado and courage to face up against the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts School. The image of an arrogant, pompous Ministry official was replaced by that of a schoolgirl who'd been caught breaking the rules.

'You are aware, Dolores,' began Dumbledore, 'that if there are extenuating circumstances that involve the safety of an underage witch or wizard, said underage witch or wizard is allowed to perform magic to protect themselves.' His voice was quiet and low, yet it radiated authority, confidence and _power_. Harry could literally feel waves of it flowing off Dumbledore as he spoke.

Umbridge nodded demurely.

'You are also aware of the current situation, I presume?'

Harry's head snapped up. Current situation? What ' _current situation'_ was Dumbledore talking about? He looked from Dumbledore, who was still staring Umbridge down, to Madam Bones, whose eyes were narrowed with – was it concern or irritation? He couldn't tell – to Susan, who met his gaze and shrugged her shoulders. Evidently she was as clueless as he was.

Umbridge nodded again. Her eyes quickly darted from Dumbledore to Harry and back again. Harry, mercifully or not, missed the movement completely.

'It – ah – it would probably be best if I – ah – leave, I think,' stuttered out Umbridge, her confidence all but gone by now.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his blue eyes still crackling slightly. Umbridge nodded back at him, gave an awkward jerk of her head towards Madam Bones – who didn't return the gesture – turned on her heel and walked back through the partition in the crowd. The MES wizards saluted Madam Bones – their wands, pointing upwards, held out in front of their chests – and quickly followed Umbridge, clearly looking to escape their boss' wrath in front of everyone else.

The drama over, the crowd disintegrated into smaller groups, either discussing what had happened just then, or moving on with their own shopping.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, as the toad-woman waddled away. Dumbledore let out a chuckle.

'That went well, don't you think?'

Harry looked up incredulously at his Headmaster. The old wizard chuckled again.

'Well, I suppose it could have been a lot better, but it could have gone a lot worse had I not turned up.' Harry had to admit, he did have a point; he definitely wouldn't have been able to get away from Umbridge and the MES wizards if Dumbledore hadn't been there.

'Madam Umbridge is a politician, Harry,' said Dumbledore. His tone was a lot more serious from earlier, and Harry immediately began to pay proper attention to what he was saying. 'An extremely power-hungry, bigoted politician. She is ambitious and goal-oriented – two qualities that are of course admirable – but she has only her own interests at heart. She does not care for others, especially those who she deems as less worthy than people of her status to study and learn magic, or to even live in our world.'

Harry instantly knew what Dumbledore was talking about, even though it hadn't been said out loud. A memory of Draco Malfoy from last year rose unbidden in his mind:

' _Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!'_

He shuddered involuntarily. Having Malfoy in school was bad enough; having someone like Umbridge in the Ministry, someone with considerable amount of power and influence… He shuddered again.

'Now,' said Dumbledore, jerking Harry out of his reverie, 'about that incident with your Aunt Marge –'

'She deserved it,' spat Harry angrily. The entire incident with Umbridge had made him thoroughly irritated, so much so that the mention of that woman's name made his blood boil.

'I do not claim to defend her words, but running away from your Aunt's house like that was extremely irresponsible, Harry. Not to mention highly dangerous, given the current climate.'

Harry nodded shamefacedly, his ire doused by Dumbledore's words. The enormity of the danger he'd been in at that point in time hadn't hit him until when Dumbledore pointed it out to him. Running away while a mass murderer was on the loose was completely impulsive, and an extremely rash decision. He immediately vowed that he wouldn't make such hasty decisions without thinking them through – at least with the time he would have on hand at that moment.

'I am glad you understand, Harry,' said Dumbledore. 'I cannot stress enough how important it is that we all stay safe these days. Escaping from Azkaban is no mean feat – Black would be a formidable adversary to anyone who crosses his path.'

'Indeed, Dumbledore.' Madam Bones and her group had joined the duo now. Susan, Harry noticed, was now standing beside him; he caught a whiff of an almond scent as a sudden gust of wind blew her auburn hair about. 'It would be wise for everyone to stay out of his way, at least until the Aurors and the MES catch hold of him.'

'So they were MES wizards then?' asked Harry.

The red-cheeked woman answered him. 'Yes, they were. I wonder why they were here though – they're usually answerable only to the Head of the DMLE. How that toad managed to get them to come along with her…'

Susan and Harry sniggered at the description of Umbridge as a 'toad'. Madam Bones frowned disapprovingly, but Dumbledore merely smiled.

'Speaking of which,' continued the woman, 'that was some incredibly quick spell-casting there, Mr Potter. You ever performed that spell before?'

Harry's face turned red at the compliment. He shook his head as he furiously tried to control his blush.

'No? Well, for a first time casting, that was an amazing shield,' she stated approvingly. She extended her hand out for him to shake. 'Hestia Jones, Mr Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

'It's – it's just Harry, please,' he stammered out as he shook her hand, still trying to fight down the blood that had flooded his cheeks. 'And likewise. Are you – are you an Auror?'

Hestia let out a laugh. 'Merlin, no! I was never good enough to be an Auror – I'm hopeless at Transfiguration. Tonks and Kingsley on the other hand –' she waved in the direction of her two unknown companions '– these two are Aurors. Jolly good ones, too – Tonks here is the youngest Auror in quite a while! Isn't that right, Madam Bones?'

Madam Bones nodded with a proud glance towards the other woman Hestia had referred to as Tonks, whose face was now a brilliant shade of beet red. The dark-skinned man extended his rather large hand and gave Harry a firm handshake. 'Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mr Potter. Pleasure to meet you.' His voice was deep and slow, and sounded quite reassuring to Harry.

'Well, as much as I would love to stay and chat, I'm afraid I must be off,' said Dumbledore. 'I trust you will be all right? Very well. I shall see you both at the Opening Feast then, Miss Bones, Harry.' He nodded to both his students and the rest of the party before striding down the street, his boots clicking on the stone path as he disappeared from sight.

Not a moment later, the silence that had descended over the group at Dumbledore's departure was broken by three distinct buzzing noises. Harry looked around in confusion as Tonks groaned rather audibly, while Kingsley and Madam Bones grimaced. Kingsley removed a small-looking box from the pocket of his robes and tapped it with his wand; the box, which had been vibrating and buzzing till then, shut up rather abruptly.

'Urgent summons from the Minister's office,' explained Kingsley as he replaced the box in his pocket; Harry noticed the other two doing the same. 'I wonder what that man needs now, it's the fourth time he's used it this week,' he said, more to the others than to Harry.

'Probably because of Umbridge,' said Madam Bones wryly. She turned towards Susan with an apologetic look. 'Sorry Susan, you know how Fudge is –'

Susan waved away her apologies. 'It's fine Auntie, don't worry. I'll spend some time with Harry until you're back, if that's alright?'

'Yes of course, that's fine. You sure you'll be okay?'

'Yes, Auntie. Now _go_!'

Madam Bones gave Susan a swift hug and followed Kingsley and Tonks down the path which Dumbledore had taken.

An awkward silence – unlike the one that had fallen over the group post Dumbledore's departure – enveloped the two teenagers and Hestia. The older witch stood by Susan's side, hands in her pockets as she whistled a merry tune. Susan was glancing around the Alley, presumably looking for something – for what, no one knew.

For his part, Harry had no idea what he was supposed to say to either of the two witches – the last time he'd been alone with Susan was when Hannah had left the two of them on the grounds of Hogwarts after apologizing to him at the end of last term, and he hadn't even met Hestia until today. He scuffed his foot against the gravel, trying to come up with something to say. But honestly, what does one say after that much drama – involving a toad-woman, potential expulsion from Hogwarts, an encounter with the fiercest wizarding squad in Europe, surviving a dangerous-looking, foul-smelling, yellowish-green liquid coming from the apothecary, all while traversing through Diagon Alley looking for –

 _Bloody hell!_

Harry whirled around so suddenly he accidentally knocked into Susan, who almost fell over, but was able to regain her balance by grabbing onto Hestia's sleeve. The two witches looked at him in alarm – Hestia with a mild bit of concern as well. Harry paid them no mind, however: he'd completely forgotten about why he'd negotiated the crowds in this part of Diagon Alley until just then, and he could have kicked himself for it.

 _What on earth happened to the black dog?_

The huge, shaggy beast was nowhere in sight. He spun on the spot, straining his eyes through the throng of people as he looked up and down the Alley, but it was fruitless. The dog had disappeared – vanished into thin air seemed more appropriate to Harry, in fact.

Was it the Grim once more, though? Could it have been a death omen, just like he'd seen on the cover of that book at Flourish and Blotts? His mind went back to the conversation he'd had with the manager of the bookstore earlier that day…

' _Well, that's the Grim of course.' His voice had dropped to almost a whisper; Harry had to strain to hear it properly amidst the babbling issuing from the group of students at the front of the store. 'It's an omen of death – people who see it have been found dead after twenty-four hours.' He paused, a worried and anxious expression on his face. 'You – you haven't seen that anywhere have you?'_

He'd told the manager he hadn't seen the Grim just so that he could avoid the pitying, worried glances, but he was now reconsidering his line of thinking. The last two times he'd seen that black dog, he had almost been attacked by that savage-looking man, and then had almost been covered in a nasty looking liquid, if not for his quick thinking and spell-casting.

Once could be happenstance. Twice would just be a coincidence. Three times… well, he wasn't sure what to make of that.

'Harry?'

His train of thought was derailed by Susan's voice; he turned around and came face to face with her worried expression. Harry couldn't tell if she was worried for his health, or his sanity. He wasn't sure if there was any difference between the two, anyway.

'What is it, Harry?'

Harry desperately wanted to tell someone about this, someone who would hear him out without judging him, and would help him understand if he really had seen the Grim. Ron, Ginny and Hermione would have been the obvious choices, but with Weasleys in Egypt and the Grangers in France, there was only one other person whom he felt he could really trust with this.

He glanced around them – the crowd was still sizeable enough, and he didn't want to be overhead. He turned back to his classmate.

'Not here, Susan. Let's go for dinner, shall we? I'll tell you about it over dinner.'

Hestia cleared her throat awkwardly.

'Err – Amelia asked me to keep an eye on you two. You know, just in case.'

Silence greeted her statement.

'So,' she said in a falsely cheerful voice, 'where are we going?'

* * *

The three of them ended up having dinner at a new bistro a few buildings away from the apothecary. The food was delicious – Hestia had forbidden them from taking a sip from her glass of Firewhiskey – but the two teenagers barely noticed. As soon as they'd given their orders, Harry had launched into an explanation of how he'd ended up at the Leaky Cauldron that night – including a description of his first encounter with the black dog – and his mazy run through the crowds of Diagon Alley earlier that day to meet the canine once more, only to be stopped by the projectile liquid (which he later learnt was undiluted Bubotuber pus).

Susan had remained silent throughout the entirety of Harry's monologue; the only sounds coming from her end of the table were the slow sips of her pumpkin juice. Her eyes, however, noticeably widened at the description of the savage man – it seemed to Harry that she knew who the man was. He tried coaxing it out of her, but she steadfastly refused to give him any details, after which he resignedly gave up.

'So you don't believe in the Grim?' asked Harry, in between mouthfuls of treacle tart.

Harry patiently watched as Susan used her fork to push the pieces of her apple pie around her plate, clearly contemplating the best way to answer his question. Hestia, meanwhile, was now looking around the cheerily decorated bistro with interest, her eyes taking in the diverse crowd – not unlike those that one could usually see on an average day at the Leaky Cauldron – while pointedly ignoring the conversation between the two teenagers.

The auburn-haired girl finally looked up into the brilliant green eyes – still hidden behind those round glasses – of the not-so-scrawny boy sitting in front of her.

'I'm not sure it's a question of what I believe right now, isn't it? They say that if you've seen one, you usually die within the next twenty-four hours. Clearly you're one of the exceptions – you're not dead yet,' she said matter-of-factly.

'Well, thanks, I didn't notice,' Harry deadpanned.

Susan glared at him. 'Well, that's exactly my point. It must have been a series of coincidences that would have led to the deaths after seeing the Grim. Most of them would have been unexplained, which would have snowballed into a superstition based on rumours and hearsay. People will believe anything you tell them, if you say it right,' she pointed out.

'Too true,' muttered Harry, thinking of the Chamber of Secrets debacle.

The conversation lapsed into silence after that, and soon, they had left the bistro to the finally fading light of the sun. Harry had never really appreciated the long days of the summer before: more sunlight usually meant more chores at Privet Drive. Now, though, his new-found freedom had made him realize the benefits of the late sunsets – he could stay out in Diagon Alley longer than he'd usually thought he could, something which irked Tom the innkeeper to no end.

'I'm allowed to stay out till nightfall Tom; you can't tick me off for coming in before sunset even if it's late!' Harry would say in response to Tom berating him for staying out late.

Hestia led them through the thinning crowds, past the apothecary and the entrance towards Knockturn Alley. They were just approaching _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ when their path was blocked by Harry's least favourite people from Hogwarts (apart from Professor Snape): Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

Draco Malfoy and Harry had been arch-enemies ever since they had met on their very first train ride to Hogwarts. Malfoy, who had a pale, pointed, sneering face, and blonde hair slicked back, was in Slytherin House; he played Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team, the same position that Harry played on the Gryffindor team. Crabbe and Goyle, however, seemed to exist solely to do Malfoy's bidding. They were both wide and muscly; Crabbe was the taller, with a pudding-basin haircut and a very thick neck; Goyle had short, bristly hair and long gorilla arms.

'Well, well, well, look who it is, boys,' said Malfoy in his characteristic lazy drawl as he folded his arms and stood in front of the two of them; Hestia hadn't noticed Malfoy approaching them; she was now far ahead of the five students. 'Potty and – Bones, isn't it?'

Harry felt a sudden surge of protectiveness for Susan as he watched Malfoy eye her with a look of infuriating superiority. For her part, Susan stood her ground, matching Malfoy's gaze with one of her own.

Malfoy's mouth curved into an audacious smirk. 'I've seen you in the Ministry with your dear Aunt. I hear she's about to lose her job over the entire Sirius Black fiasco, is that right?'

Susan's eyes glittered dangerously as her mouth thinned. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly.

'Go away Malfoy,' said Harry fiercely. He wasn't going to allow Malfoy to spoil his mood; he'd have to deal with him for the entire year anyway.

'Ooooh, touchy-touchy, Potter,' said Malfoy, still smirking. 'Planning on catching Black yourself are you? Of course, if it was me, I'd have gone after him _ages_ ago, you see. I'd want revenge.'

Harry stood there, nonplussed. Revenge? What on earth was Malfoy talking about? He glanced towards Susan, who looked – _troubled?_

Apparently Malfoy found this amusing, for he let out a low, sneering laugh.

'Good Lord, don't tell me you don't _know,_ Potter.' Malfoy's eyes were shining malevolently now, and his mouth curved into a mean smile. 'Father told me about it ages ago, of course. If I were you, I'd have started looking for him myself by now.'

'Either explain yourself Malfoy, or get out of here,' said Harry briskly.

'What is going on here?'

For the second time that evening, Madam Bones' booming voice cut through whatever retorts Malfoy had planned to throw at Harry; the blonde instead gave Harry a look of deepest loathing and stalked off in the opposite direction, Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

Harry exhaled rather forcefully, desperately trying to control the impulse to go after Malfoy and smack his blonde head. 'That annoying, irritating ponce…'

'He's not worth it, Harry,' said Susan gently, even as her eyes still blazed with anger towards the blonde Slytherin. 'Don't let him rile you up and react, it's what he wants.'

Harry exhaled again, less angrily this time, as the imposing figure of Madam Bones came into his vision. Trailing behind her was Hestia, a worried look on her usually cheerful face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Madam Bones' booming voice interrupted her.

'Are you alright, Susan? Harry?'

They both nodded. Harry stole another glance towards Susan, but her eyes gave nothing away.

'Good. Well, like I said, that was Fudge calling us for an immediate meeting.' She pulled a face of mild disgust – clearly she wasn't as approving of the Minister as others were. 'Seems like Umbridge got to him first and tried feeding him some cock-and-bull story about Harry performing some advanced magic, which warranted your immediate expulsion from Hogwarts.' Her frown deepened even further. 'At least he had the sense to call me and verify her story before doing anything.'

'Wait – what?' exclaimed Susan. 'He was going to expel Harry?'

'I'm not sure he was going to.' Harry jumped as the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt replied; he hadn't even heard or seen the large man approaching them. 'But that woman certainly did try her best to convince him otherwise.'

Madam Bones glanced around, apparently checking to make sure they weren't being eavesdropped, and spoke in a low voice to the two teenagers. 'Given the current climate, it's not safe to be staying alone, Harry. It might be best if you had some company with you for the remainder of the holidays.'

Harry's heart sank. For the last two weeks, he'd been enjoying the bliss that could only come from being away from the oppressive atmosphere of the Dursleys'. Now, he would be forced to return once more, because a mass murderer was on the loose, and he'd been caught doing magic outside of school, again.

Somehow, he'd known that these two weeks were too good to last for another one.

 _Such rotten luck._

He'd been so caught up with the horrible fact that he had to return to Number Four, that he completely missed the next part of Madam Bones' statement – or was it a question? His four companions were staring expectantly at him; clearly they were waiting from some sort of answer from him.

'Sorry, what? I didn't catch that.'

Madam Bones' eyebrow arched ever so slightly; Harry quickly made a mental note to never ask Madam Bones to repeat herself.

'I was wondering if you'd like to come and stay with Susan and me at Bones Mansion for the remainder of the holidays. Assuming that your Aunt and Uncle agree, of course.'

And as Harry's expression shifted from sad and morose to joyful and excited almost immediately, Madam Bones was finally able to fully appreciate what the expression 'in the blink of an eye' truly meant.


	5. Chapter 4: A Little Bit of Knowledge

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter series.**

 **Recognizable portions from this chapter have been taken from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, by J.K. Rowling**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: A Little Bit of Knowledge**

 **Previously, on The Marauders' Return…**

 _He'd been so caught up with the horrible fact that he had to return to Number Four, that he completely missed the next part of Madam Bones' statement – or was it a question? His four companions were staring expectantly at him; clearly they were waiting from some sort of answer from him._

' _Sorry, what? I didn't catch that.'_

 _Madam Bones' eyebrow arched ever so slightly; Harry quickly made a mental note to never ask Madam Bones to repeat herself._

' _I was wondering if you'd like to come and stay with Susan and me at Bones Mansion for the remainder of the holidays. Assuming that your Aunt and Uncle agree, of course.'_

 _And as Harry's expression shifted from sad and morose to joyful and excited almost immediately, Madam Bones was finally able to fully appreciate what the expression 'in the blink of an eye' truly meant._

* * *

His joyous expression, however, was immediately replaced by a worried look.

'Are you sure? I mean… I would love to come, honestly, but Fudge – sorry, the Minister – asked me to stay here, and –'

'Harry, you're rambling,' interrupted Susan with a smile.

'Listen to me, Harry,' said Madam Bones. 'Whatever the Minister told you about staying here in Diagon Alley seems quite fishy to me. For goodness sake, there's a killer on the loose, it's not safe for anyone to be alone! Least of all –'

She broke off suddenly and rather abruptly; clearly she hadn't intended to make that statement, and had caught herself just in time. Harry gave her a curious look.

'Least of all children like you and Susan,' amended Madam Bones hastily. 'Black is a dangerous criminal, Harry, you'd do well to remember that. They've already decided to send the Azkaban guards out in search of him.'

At these words, Hestia paled noticeably. Her voice shook, and was decidedly higher-pitched as she addressed Madam Bones. 'T-the Azkaban guards?'

'I'm afraid so,' said Madam Bones gravely. 'It was the Minister's idea, that's why he'd called us for that emergency meeting just now.' Hestia growled angrily at the mention of the Minister. 'How he thinks having those creatures at school would help is beyond me…'

Harry tuned out the conversation between the two adults as it ventured into the 'widely accepted theory' that Cornelius Fudge was, as Hestia put it, 'definitely incompetent' and 'off his rocker'. Madam Bones refrained from passing any judgement on her boss, but he could spot a ghost of a smile flitting across her face as Hestia continued her rant against the Minister with a few choice words.

Susan elbowed him sharply in the ribs. 'Well? You are coming, right?'

'I-yes, of course,' he responded, still wincing as he massaged his side. 'What was that for, anyway?'

'You seemed lost in your own little world there, I figured I'd give you a wake-up call.'

'Right, thanks, I appreciate the sentiment.'

Susan stuck her tongue out at him. 'Well c'mon then. You need to pack, let's go.'

Harry acquiesced to Susan grabbing his arm and dragging him away from the completely oblivious adults, who now seemed to be talking about goblin rights. The two continued their friendly banter as they sauntered down the street towards the Leaky Cauldron. The sun had finally set; the lights from the gas lamps hanging at the entrances of each shop and peddler were the only sources of illumination for the straggles of shoppers finishing their shopping in Diagon Alley. The stars appeared to be playing a game of hide-and-seek up in the dark sky above – Harry could barely make out the few constellations he remembered from his Astronomy lessons in second year.

The pub was, in a departure from the norm, quite empty by its standards that night; Harry had never seen it this empty in all of the two weeks he'd been there. The usual crowd was missing – the old wizard by the hearth at the far end of the room was nowhere to be seen. It looked like the wizarding population was taking the escape of Sirius Black from Azkaban prison quite seriously.

Tom the landlord was, as usual, positioned behind the bar, and was in the process of pouring a rather large amount of what looked like oak mead into a huge tankard. The man waiting for his drink was enormous – he simply looked too big to be allowed in the room. He turned around as Tom waved at Harry, and his black, beetle eyes crinkled as his bearded face broke into a huge grin.

'Hagrid!' said Harry ecstatically. He hugged the giant man – or at least attempted to put his arms around Hagrid's huge frame. Hagrid returned the hug with equal, if not more, enthusiasm; he still didn't think he could ever properly thank the young teenager for helping him out with the Chamber of Secrets debacle last term.

'How're yeh doin' Harry?' boomed Hagrid, as Harry and Susan – the latter a bit tepidly – joined Hagrid at the bar. Tom handed out two bottles of Butterbeer to Harry and Susan, and promptly waved them away when they attempted to pay for it.

'Don't bother, I'll get it from Hagrid here later.'

'Thanks Tom,' said Harry appreciatively, and Susan smiled in gratitude. The wizened barman tipped his head before sliding out of the bar and heading over to the other side of the room, where two warlocks were almost on the verge of coming to blows.

The three of them watched interestedly as Tom diffused the tension as quickly as it had arisen, after which he returned to the bar, muttering about 'crazy old dingbats'.

Harry chuckled at Tom's indignation, before turning to his first-ever friend.

'What brings you here, Hagrid?' Susan, despite her unease at sitting with the large gamekeeper, looked interested at his response.

'Ah, the usual. Flesh-Eating-Slug Repellant, them things 'ave bin a menace,' growled Hagrid. 'Yeh mus' be Susan Bones, think I might've seen yeh 'round at school.'

'Err – yes sir,' she stammered out. Hagrid looked oddly pleased with the address, a fact which did not miss Harry's attention.

The three of them chatted for a while longer, before Hagrid bid them farewell with a wave of his dustbin-lid sized hand, almost catching a poor old witch heading for the Floo fireplace, her arms laden with shopping bags. He apologized profusely to her in his booming voice, and sauntered out of the bar towards Diagon Alley.

Harry and Susan waved goodbye to Tom and moved upstairs to room number eleven. The books he'd purchased from Flourish and Blotts were still strewn about the floor – his Divination textbook was propping up one of his extra reading books – _Jinxes for the Jinxed_ , which caught Susan's attention almost immediately.

' _Jinxes for the Jinxed?_ ' she queried as she settled onto the only chair in the room, the glossy black book in her hand. 'Whatever for?'

Harry gave her an odd look. 'I thought I told you – I've been doing some reading over the summer.'

'Yes, well, when you said reading, I assumed you meant books like David Copperfield or something,' she fired back. 'Not extra studying books.'

Harry looked nonplussed. 'You've read David Copperfield? That's a Muggle book!'

She frowned at him. 'So? Auntie always suggested that I read about Muggles and their literature. She says it helps us to understand the way Muggles live.'

'She's got a point, your Aunt,' said Harry, impressed. He'd finished stuffing his books in his trunk, including _Jinxes for the Jinxed_ which he'd grabbed from Susan, and was now moving around the room, picking up his leftover clothes and other items.

'Grandma is a Muggle-born, so she ensured that both my father and Auntie got into the habit of reading Muggle as well as wizarding books. We've got a huge library at home – I think it must have at least five thousand books,' she finished proudly. 'I've never counted though, but it's certainly a lot of books.'

'And done!' said Harry happily as he shut his trunk, having clearly not listened to a word of what Susan had said. He looked confused at the mild scowl she gave him, but ignored it soon after as Hedwig came sweeping through the open window. She looked pleased with herself – Harry surmised she must have had a rather successful hunt that evening.

'All right girl?' he asked as he stroked her feathers tenderly. She hooted happily in response and rubbed her neck against his hand.

'We're going to the Bones Mansion tonight, Hedwig. D'you think you could fly there? I don't think you would prefer travelling by car.' Hedwig glared at him. 'I thought not. Go on, then.' And with that, the snowy owl took off into the night once more, the light from the waxing moon giving her an ethereal glow in the night sky.

'She must be really intelligent – it looks like she understands every word that you said,' remarked Susan.

Harry jumped in surprise; he'd completely forgotten about Susan's presence when Hedwig had come in. Susan pretended not to notice it.

'Is she your Familiar?'

This had Harry turning to face Susan properly, a bewildered look on his face. 'What do you mean?'

The auburn-haired girl adopted a thoughtful look while adjusting her position on the rather uncomfortable looking wooden chair, as though she was trying to recollect something. 'Familiars represent the bond that a witch or wizard has with their pets – mostly pets, actually. Some wizards might even have a bond with magical animals that can't actually be domesticated. Like dragons, for example. Or phoenixes too,' she added as an afterthought.

Harry's ears perked up at the mention of phoenixes as Familiars. 'You think Fawkes could be Dumbledore's Familiar?'

'Who's Fawkes?'

'Dumbledore's phoenix, haven't you seen him?'

'No, I can't say that I have. Plus, I don't think Dumbledore has a phoenix, Harry.'

'Of course he does,' he retorted. 'Dumbledore introduced me to him last term –'

'I mean,' Susan cut across before he could finish, 'I don't think Dumbledore could say he owned that phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes can't be kept as pets.'

'They can't?' asked Harry in amazement.

'Rather odd, isn't it?' said Susan. 'I was surprised when Auntie told me about it – she said that one of the wizarding fairy-tale stories was technically wrong in the fact that the prince in it had a pet phoenix. They are loyal and faithful birds, yes, but can never be considered as pets.'

'Huh,' said Harry. 'Well, I didn't know that – something new to learn for the day I s'pose.'

'Indeed,' agreed Susan with a smile.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, much unlike the one Madam Bones, Kingsley and Tonks had left in their wake upon their departure in Diagon Alley. Harry's thoughts wandered to the events of that day; it was hard to believe that he'd almost been arrested by the MES and expelled from Hogwarts just a few hours earlier. All for merely conjuring a Basic Shield Charm in self-defence.

His gaze strayed over to rest on Susan, who was now looking out the window of the room into the now-star-filled night sky. He grinned to himself as he recalled Susan's playful smirk when she'd first arrived along with Madam Bones. The grin, however, faded into a frown as Dumbledore's last remarks to Umbridge came to his mind:

' _You are also aware of the current situation, I presume?'_

What 'current situation' was Dumbledore talking about? Harry could logically think of only one thing – and that was the escape of Sirius Black from Azkaban. Then again, the fuss that everyone was making out of it seemed – at least to Harry – quite excessive. He couldn't say he disagreed with Dumbledore's assessment of Black as being 'a formidable adversary to anyone who crosses his path' – he had murdered thirteen people with a single curse after all. But it still seemed as if they were making an extra fuss of the situation whenever he, Harry, was around. Two incognito weeks spent in Diagon Alley had only reaffirmed that notion: while the general populace was a little frightened, they seemed confident that Black would be recaptured by the Azkaban guards.

The Azkaban guards…the reaction of people to the mention of them was something else which Harry had observed; truthfully, it would have been difficult for anyone not to have noticed the shudders and winces of people whenever the subject of the guards came up. Harry vividly remembered Ernie Prang's words when Stan Shunpike had talked about them:

' _Talk about summat else, Stan, there's a good lad. Them Azkaban guards give me the collywobbles.'_

Harry didn't know anything about the wizard prison and its guards, though everyone he'd ever heard speak of it had done so in the same fearful tone. Hagrid had spent only two months in there last year, but the look of terror on Hagrid's face – one of the bravest people Harry knew – was something he wasn't likely to forget too soon.

'Knut for your thoughts, Harry?' Susan's voice broke through his reverie.

'Just thinking,' he responded, still lost in thought.

'I can see that,' she said dryly. 'D'you want to talk about it?'

Harry hesitated. Should he tell her about the odd feeling he got whenever someone mentioned Azkaban, or Sirius Black and his escape? Or about his suspicions that everyone was making a great fuss about the mass murderer whenever he was around?

He shook his head. 'Maybe some other time, Susan.'

She eyed him carefully; he clearly hadn't done a good job of hiding his emotions. Fortunately she decided not to press him further – unlike what Hermione would surely have done, for which he was grateful.

'C'mon then,' she said briskly, picking up his backpack. 'Let's go home.'

* * *

Situated just outside the city of London in Old Windsor, the Bones Mansion sits in the middle of a large, sprawling estate of approximately five hundred acres, with lush, green gardens surrounding the main building from all four sides. With the Windsor Great Park – located just behind it – being the only major public area in the vicinity, the Bones estate itself is practically isolated. There are no other Muggle families around within a three-mile radius, while most of the wizarding families – both pure and half-blood – have settled either in the city of London itself, or in areas farther away from Muggle civilization. Indeed, the nearest wizarding house – home to the Abbotts – is at least a good seven miles away by road.

The estate is also well protected – both physically and magically. Despite the safeguards that had been put up by the royal family for the Windsor Great Park – and by extension the Bones Mansion as well – the head of the Bones family, in the eighteenth century, decided to add his own protection to the estate. And so, after a lot of assurances given to the Ministry of Magic that the magic used wouldn't be seen by Muggles, and that it wouldn't be used for Muggle-baiting, the first of the many, varied wards came up around the estate. Over the years, the constant presence of magical beings and the usage of magic on the grounds of the estate has only served to strengthen these wards, whilst also enabling them to add new ones.

As on the day Harry arrived at the Bones Mansion in 1993, there were approximately fifteen different sets of wards, along with ten other shields that protected the lands.

One of them didn't allow for unauthorized people – Muggles and magical folk alike, who weren't specifically allowed by the current head of the house – to simply appear on the grounds, either through Apparation or the Floo. This ward had been introduced during Grindelwald's reign of terror, and continued up till the disappearance of Voldemort in 1981. Since then, it had been disabled on account of its stringent punishment to trespassers; Madam Bones, however, had enabled it over the summer, citing 'the current climate.'

The decision on bringing Harry home being an impulsive, split-second one, Madam Bones hadn't had the opportunity to disable the Unauthorized Trespasser Ward – or UTW for short, as Susan had explained to him on the way there. They were therefore compelled to approach the Bones Mansion through the traditional road – taking the B383 off the London Road adjacent to the Imperial College of London – Silwood Park. The Ministry, upon special request, had graciously agreed to provide one of its cars for this purpose. The bottle-green coloured vehicle was driven by a furtive-looking wizard, wearing a suit of emerald velvet. As he entered the car with his trunk in tow right outside the Leaky Cauldron, Harry presumed that the car must have had a charm put on it similar to what had been applied for the Leaky Cauldron's entrance: none of the passing Muggles seemed to think twice about the presence of quite an old-fashioned looking car on the street.

The journey to the Bones Mansion was uneventful compared to Harry's trip on the Knight Bus. The Ministry car seemed very ordinary, although Harry noticed that it was able to fit through narrow gaps and spaces in traffic that Uncle Vernon's new company car certainly couldn't have managed.

The three of them – Madam Bones, Susan and Harry – were seated quite comfortably at the back; Madam Bones had requested the driver of the cab to put up the privacy window between the front and back seats, which allowed them to have a private conversation without him listening in.

' _Silencio_ ,' said Madam Bones with a wave of her wand. Harry immediately recognised the incantation for the Silencing Charm – it was used to either make a person go silent, or an area to become silent to outsiders. It was quite useful for making sure that conversations went unheard, or for shutting someone up, but it had its limitations: if there was an emergency inside the Silenced area, no one outside would be able to hear it unless the charm was reversed.

What Harry didn't expect, however, was a kind of _feel_ to the charm itself. It was as if the three of them had been enclosed in a big transparent bubble; it spread out from the tip of Madam Bones' wand over them, enclosing them in a dome-like structure. He was distinctly able to sense the boundaries of the bubble – it extended all the way from the backrests of their seats to the partition glass – but what intrigued him significantly was the enveloping sensation he had felt as the charm passed over him.

His small gasp of surprise and bewilderment did not go unnoticed by Madam Bones.

'Something wrong, Harry?'

He looked at her, eyes still reflecting his amazement. 'The charm – that was the Silencing Charm wasn't it?'

If Madam Bones was surprised at his knowledge of the charm – it was an OWL level charm – she didn't show it.

'Yes, it was. What about it?'

He opened his mouth to respond, but almost immediately, memories of the last time he'd made his 'abilities' public assaulted him – the shock and horror reflected on the faces of his teachers and fellow students at Hogwarts when he was revealed to be a Parselmouth swam before his eyes. While he knew that the ability to feel a charm, unlike Parseltongue, wouldn't be considered as a dark trait, he didn't want to take a chance with this.

He shook his head fervently. 'No, there's nothing, Madam Bones.'

Madam Bones raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't question him further, instead choosing to hand out two rolls of parchment to Susan and Harry. At first glance, they appeared to be blank, but Madam Bones tapped each roll twice with her wand, and ink blossomed out on the pages from the point where her wand had touched them.

'Susan tells me you've been desperate to practice some spells, Harry,' said Madam Bones, almost too nonchalantly. It wasn't a question.

Harry looked up from the pieces of parchment – Madam Bones was expressionless as she proof-read the rolls, but Susan was staring out the window while determinedly avoiding his eye. He glared at Susan, but didn't respond to Madam Bones' statement. She understood, however.

'At such a young age, your skill and speed with a wand is quite impressive, Harry, from what I saw. With the right training and guidance, however, you could become an extraordinary duellist. I thought you could benefit from that kind of training over the next two weeks, considering the time you have on your hands until you return to school.'

Harry quickly perused his roll – it was a timetable of his training and additional classes that Madam Bones had arranged for him at the Bones' Mansion. Most of them appeared to be sessions related to Defence Against the Dark Arts – duelling or spell-casting sessions; however, he noticed that he had a session titled 'Magical Channelling' every evening for an hour, which was followed by 'Muggle Fighting Techniques' for another hour. He supposed that the Muggle fighting class was Madam Bones' idea, considering her advocacy for understanding Muggles. He also noted that he had almost 2 hours per day for 'Others' – he wondered if he was to revise his other subjects and previous readings during that time.

'I'm joining these classes too?' asked Susan. Harry looked up again at Susan – this time in surprise – who sported a confused look on her face, her eyebrows raised in bewilderment. And for some unknown reason, his stomach did a small backflip.

'Yes, you are,' said Madam Bones. 'I thought it would be best for you to learn some duelling and spell-casting as well. Plus, it would be nice for Harry to have some company, don't you think?'

Harry was stunned. Here was a woman who had barely known him for half a day, but had already invited him to stay at her place for the remainder of his holidays, understood his desire for an opportunity to perform some spells, and had taken the trouble to plan his training sessions – something which he'd desperately wanted ever since he'd started his extra reading in the beginning of the summer. She couldn't have been more unlike Aunt Petunia, and that was, in Harry's opinion, a major plus point in Madam Bones' favour.

He attempted to splutter out his thanks to her, but she waved it off.

'It's the least I can do, Harry. I knew your parents when they were in Hogwarts and after they left; you couldn't have met nicer people than them. I owe it to Lily and James for all that they've done for me, especially when –'

She trailed off, breathing heavily – she was evidently quite emotional about it. Harry noticed that her eyes were moist, and decided not to press the issue. He waited for her to return to normal – pretending to be fascinated with the scenery outside as she subtly wiped her eyes.

'Thank you, Madam Bones,' he said courteously, to which she smiled at him.

He looked down at his schedule, and almost felt giddy with anticipation. He couldn't wait for the sessions to begin. Harry couldn't explain it, but the fact that Susan was joining him in these training sessions was making him look forward to them even more.

'And don't worry about the underage magic restriction, I've taken care of it,' said Madam Bones, almost as an after-thought. Harry wondered what she'd done – especially considering his recent brush with the law and Dolores Umbridge – but he didn't press it further.

As the Ministry car zipped along the M4, Madam Bones proceeded to give a brief run-down on each of the subjects that Harry and Susan were scheduled to take over the following two weeks. He was glad to hear that they would be taught proper duelling by a proper teacher – something which he'd been dying to learn since the disastrous Duelling Club by his ex-Professor Lockhart. But it was the explanation given by Madam Bones for the Magical Channelling session that really piqued his interest.

'Tell me,' she began, as the car squeezed through a narrow gap to avoid a massive line of vehicles heading towards Heathrow Airport, 'what's the most common tool used for channelling magic?'

Susan piped up with the answer almost immediately. 'A wand.'

'That's correct. A wand is the most common instrument used by most witches and wizards across the world to ensure that their magic works the way they wish it to. Simply put, it acts as a pipe for the magic to flow in the correct direction, to achieve the correct objective.'

'Most witches and wizards? You mean there could be others who don't use wands?' asked Harry.

'I'm not saying there could be, I'm saying there are others who don't use wands,' replied Madam Bones. 'The ancient wizards of Africa – from where it is said that all magic originated – never used any instrument or object to perform spells, let alone any wand. The wand is in fact a European invention – some historians are of the belief that it could even be the brainchild of a British wizard after he returned from a tour of Africa. Considering that Ollivander's has been making wands since the fourth century B.C., that theory might well be true.'

Harry had already heard of this theory – the author of one of his summer reading books had postulated this, before expanding on it to suggest that it may well have been Garrick Ollivander's ancestor himself who introduced the idea of wands to magical Europe. But the fact that there were still some magical communities who were able to perform spells without a wand was truly fascinating.

'The reason behind me telling you this is that your Magical Channelling Session is going to teach you the ability to utilize your magic without a wand. Not everyone can do this, mind: there are very few Magic Channellers in the world right now. If I'm not wrong, I think Dumbledore is one himself.'

Harry looked back down at his schedule as she finished – there were no names or details given of the instructors who would be taking their lessons. Susan voiced what he was thinking almost immediately.

'Will Professor Dumbledore be taking our sessions then?'

To their surprise, Madam Bones chuckled. 'As skilled as Dumbledore is, he's not the best Magical Channeller out there. No, I've managed to reach out to someone who is, by Dumbledore's admission, much better than he is.'

Madam Bones paused as the car swerved suddenly to avoid a bird on the M25. 'Your sessions will be taken by Bernard Fernandes.'

Susan let out a gasp, her hand over her mouth as her eyes widened in shock. 'You're joking right?' she exclaimed. 'Bernard Fernandes? As in THE Bernard Fernandes?!'

Madam Bones gave a rather uncharacteristic smirk. 'The one and the same.'

Harry was nonplussed. 'Who?'

Susan looked at him incredulously. 'You haven't heard of Bernard Fernandes?'

'Err…'

'Harry, Bernard Fernandes is probably the world's most knowledgeable magician since Merlin himself! Surely you've got his Chocolate Frog card?' said Susan.

'Err…'

'Oh, for goodness' sake!' said Susan. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and withdrew what was unmistakeably a Chocolate Frog card. It was quite faded, and the edges were significantly worn out; clearly it had been carried around and looked at for a long time. Why she happened to have that particular card on that day, nobody knew. Harry opened his mouth to ask, but Susan cut him with a brusque 'Don't ask', as she thrust the card to Harry.

' _Lumos_ ,' said Madam Bones, and with the illumination provided by the tip of her wand, Harry read.

 _Considered as one of the most knowledgeable magicians – amongst witches and wizards – since the time of Merlin himself. Bernard Fernandes is a recipient of the highest international individual civil award, the Ptolemy Award, awarded by the International Confederation of Wizards. It is rumoured that his students include Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald and Nicholas Flamel. He celebrated his 250_ _th_ _birthday in August 1986._

Harry turned the card over – the portrait of Bernard Fernandes blinked up at him: wild, wavy, white hair, slightly bushy eyebrows, a sharp nose and a rather pronounced chin. Harry thought he rather looked like the pictures of Albert Einstein he had seen in the school library (during the brief time he'd been allowed in). But what struck him most were the eyes – they were of a golden hue, with minuscule flecks of brown at the corners. Knowledge and wisdom seemed to _pour_ out of them, even in the portrait; it was like the brain of Bernard Fernandes was straining to hold in that much information in them.

'Grindelwald was his student?' asked Harry disbelievingly.

'Indeed,' said Madam Bones. 'Bernard taught him some of the more advanced magical techniques and theories – or so the story goes. I heard he was deeply disturbed by Grindelwald's motives, and his embracing of the Dark Arts. I shudder to imagine how he must have felt when his top two students went against each other.'

Harry knew what she was talking about – the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald in 1945 was epic in more ways than one: the tenacity, prowess and magical skills of the duellists on display were awe-inspiring. It was slightly disconcerting, and equally exciting to know that they were going to be trained by the teacher of both Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

'We have reached, Madam Bones,' came the driver's voice from the front of the car. Harry looked out the window as Madam Bones waved her wand towards the front. He just managed to get a glimpse of the wrought iron gates – not unlike the ones at Hogwarts, except that the columns were topped with fierce looking badgers – before they sped past on the driveway up towards the house.

The driver stopped the car in front of the main doors: they were made of solid teakwood, and were painted a brilliant gold. The flight of stairs leading up to the doors were of white marble; a long golden carpet ran along the middle of the stairs and disappeared into the house. Harry's gaze shifted across the building as he got out of the car: while only three floors high, it was significantly wider – Harry imagined it was at least five times the size of the Dursley's house. A faint hum sounding across the grounds accompanied as he walked up the stairs, which he assumed to be the engine of the Ministry car, fading away as the driver tipped his hat to Madam Bones and drove off from the estate.

Harry had expected the main doors to swing open of their own accord, but he was slightly startled at the appearance of Binky, the house elf of the Bones' family. Binky was similar in stature to Dobby, the only other house elf that Harry had met, but he seemed a bit less excited and zealous in nature. Once Harry got over his initial shock at seeing another house elf, he'd politely greeted Binky – to the amazed and impressed looks of Madam Bones and Susan – and accepted the elf's offer of a mini tour of the mansion right away. While Madam Bones levitated Harry's trunk to his allotted room in the house, Susan joined Harry and Binky in what the auburn-haired girl termed as 'The Binky-Bones Tour', a task which the elf was very proud of.

The interior of the Bones Mansion was equally impressive as its magnificent exterior: a huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, bathing the foyer in the bright yet soft yellow glow of candles. Numerous floating candles also added to the available light, while torches lined the walls, which were interspersed with portraits – presumably of the ancestors of the Bones family, all of whom were staring at Harry with unabashed interest. There was a huge fireplace to the right of the doors, above which was an equally large mantelpiece, decorated with trinkets, old wands and other items that certainly wouldn't have merited a place on the Dursleys' shelves.

Straight ahead from the entrance was another set of double doors, which on further inspection led to a massive dining hall: the table set in the centre of the room could easily seat twenty people comfortably. A door off the dining hall led to the kitchen, the storeroom, and the living quarters of Binky and two other house elves – Tufty and Blossom. Those two mainly tended to the greenhouses and the surrounding grounds; according to Binky, the Venomous Tentacula had caused quite a ruckus by knocking the other pots over, which had unfortunately held up the house elves there.

The entrance foyer had two sets of spiral staircases along either wall, which led to the first floor. Apart from those, there were another set of doors to the right that opened up to a private study – Susan said it doubled up as Madam Bones' office on the day she chose to stay at home – while the doors to the left led to a medium-sized library. The first floor were all rooms – fourteen in total, including a number of guest rooms, Susan's bedroom, Madam Bones' bedroom and the master bedroom, in which Susan's parents had slept in prior to their deaths. Harry tactfully didn't press for more information on it, instead choosing to go up the stairs to the second floor, which had –

'The Duelling Room, Master,' squeaked Binky from near Harry's knee as the doors opened. He looked around in awe: to say the room was vast would be an understatement – it was _enormous_. It was at least half a mile in length from the door, and a quarter of a mile wide. A part of the left wall near the door was lined with a bookshelf, which on a closer look contained a number of books on duelling, spell-casting, dark arts fighting and defence strategies. The other wall had a number of dummies standing side-by-side, with circular targets painted across their torsos for accuracy training. According to Binky, the dummies were self-reparable, as was the room to a certain extent. The walls were also sound-proof and spell-proof – which meant that destructive spells wouldn't destroy it immediately – something which Binky was extremely proud of.

'We is doing this, sir, we is putting the proofing spells for this room for Madam and Master Bones to practice!' said Binky, as excitedly as he could get. 'Master Bones loved using this room for training, sir, oh yes! Very fond and proud of Binky he was too.' His ears drooped slightly, however, as he continued. ''Tis a shame though, sir, about Master Bones, oh, what a shame… A very kind Master to Binky he was, too kind…'

Harry had known from his correspondence with Susan over the summer that Lord Voldemort's followers had murdered her mother, her grandmother and her uncle – Madam Bones' husband – a few years after he'd been defeated by Harry. But he had no idea as to how her father had died. His initial impulse was to ask Binky for details, but he thought the better of it: Susan appeared quite subdued and forlorn at the mention of her father, so he wisely kept his mouth shut and avoided the topic altogether.

Susan remained downcast for the remainder of the Tour; it slightly dampened Harry's enthusiasm when he stepped out onto the balcony on the eastern wing of the house. The view was magnificent: the sprawling grounds were softly lit up by the slowly waxing moon of that week, casting curious shadows of the trees across the grounds. In the distance, a lone swan glided across a small pond, its feathers shining slightly in the moonlight. Harry made a note to be on this balcony at dawn at least once.

'Are you alright?' Harry asked Susan, as Binky shooed them off the balcony and ushered him to his room on the first floor – two doors before and on the other side from Susan's.

She gave him a rather unusual watery smile – unusual for the reason that he'd never seen her this down since he'd met her two months ago – and nodded, before bidding him good night and shutting her door with a soft click. He stood at the entrance to his room, his hand on the door handle, staring at the spot where Susan had disappeared from view.

'Miss Suzie is very sad about Master Bones' death,' said Binky morosely from near his knee. 'She misses him greatly, but rarely speaks about it to anyone. Poor Miss Suzie…' He shook his head slowly, his large ears flapping about.

Harry looked at Binky in surprise. 'Wait, she rarely speaks about it to anyone? How come?'

'Oh it was horrible, sirs,' said Binky as they walked inside his room. 'Very horrible, and she saw all of it, poor Miss Suzie… A little girl she was, and she saw everything.'

His self-control crumbled; curiosity got the better of Harry. 'What happened? Was it Vol – sorry!' he amended hastily, as Binky almost jumped in fright, breathing heavily. 'Was it his doing?'

It took Binky a good minute to calm down from the shock and fright of almost hearing Voldemort's name out loud, but he refused to elaborate on the subject even after that. After a number of attempts at coaxing out the information from the elf, Harry finally gave up; he shooed Binky out of the room, insisting that he needed his rest. He was so tired, he collapsed onto his bed without changing his clothes or removing his glasses, rolled right over and promptly fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 5: The Return to Hogwarts

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter series.**

 **Recognizable portions from this chapter have been taken from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, by J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: The Return to Hogwarts**

 **Previously, on The Marauders' Return…**

' _Miss Suzie is very sad about Master Bones' death,' said Binky morosely from near his knee. 'She misses him greatly, but rarely speaks about it to anyone. Poor Miss Suzie…' He shook his head slowly, his large ears flapping about._

 _Harry looked at Binky in surprise. 'Wait, she rarely speaks about it to anyone? How come?'_

' _Oh it was horrible, sirs,' said Binky as they walked inside his room. 'Very horrible, and she saw all of it, poor Miss Suzie… A little girl she was, and she saw everything.'_

 _His self-control crumbled; curiosity got the better of Harry. 'What happened? Was it Vol – sorry!' he amended hastily, as Binky almost jumped in fright, breathing heavily. 'Was it his doing?'_

 _It took Binky a good minute to calm down from the shock and fright of almost hearing Voldemort's name out loud, but he refused to elaborate on the subject even after that. After a number of attempts at coaxing out the information from the elf, Harry finally gave up; he shooed Binky out of the room, insisting that he needed his rest. He was so tired, he collapsed onto his bed without changing his clothes or removing his glasses, rolled right over and promptly fell asleep._

* * *

The three of them were early – as early as he and the Weasleys had been late for the train the year before. The clock on platform nine and three-quarters showed a time of quarter past ten on that overcast Wednesday morning of September first. Having received an urgent summons from the Ministry earlier in the morning, Madam Bones had decided to drop Harry and Susan at the platform earlier than usual, before reporting to her office.

The platform appeared deserted when they arrived through the barrier from King's Cross Station. Smoke from the idling scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express permeated over the platform; the three of them covered their mouths to avoid choking on it as they made way down to one of the carriages in the middle of the train. After stowing their trunks in a compartment, the two teenagers jumped back onto the platform to say their goodbyes to Madam Bones.

'Now, you be safe this year, alright?' said Madam Bones. 'Don't do anything stupid, and don't go looking for any trouble.'

'We'll be fine, Auntie, don't worry,' said Susan as she hugged her Aunt.

'Thanks for letting me stay this summer, Madam Bones,' said Harry politely. He made to shake the older woman's hand, but Madam Bones surprised him with a warm, loving hug. He could not remember being hugged like this before…as though by a mother.

'I'm glad I did so, Harry,' she said kindly as she stepped back. 'I hope you enjoyed yourself?'

'Oh yes, definitely!' said Harry enthusiastically. 'This has been my best summer till date, Madam Bones, thank you so much.'

She gave him another kind smile. Her expression quickly became serious, however, just before she turned to go.

'Remember, both of you,' she said sternly. 'Don't do anything that could attract anyone's attention. You remember what Professor Fernandes said – it would be best if your skills and abilities are kept under wraps for the time being. Understood?'

She made sure the two of them gave their word that they wouldn't openly display their abilities in public, and would only practice in secret, before striding out of the platform through the barrier. The two of them then boarded the train and headed to their compartment.

'Hang on,' whispered Harry suddenly. Susan, who was ahead of him, had been about to unlock the door of their compartment; she turned and gave him a curious look, her hand still outstretched towards the door handle.

'Wha – Harry, no!' hissed Susan. Harry, in the time Susan had paused and turned around to look at him, had stretched out his own hand to unlock the door. The palm of his right hand was facing outwards, away from him, and within a moment, the tell-tale sound of the lock clicking open met their ears. Harry dropped his arm and grinned at Susan; she, however, was not pleased.

'Harry, you heard Auntie!' she scolded him as they entered the compartment together, Susan now manually locking the door. 'We mustn't use our abilities in public! What were you thinking?'

'There was no one there, Su,' said Harry defensively, sitting down opposite the auburn-haired girl, who had now crossed her arms across her chest, a scowl on her face. 'Besides, your hand was almost on the handle anyway, people wouldn't have been able to tell the difference if they had seen me.'

Susan glared at him, obviously unimpressed with his excuse. Harry sighed.

'Alright, alright' he conceded. 'I promise, no more public displays until we get the go-ahead from Professor Fernandes.'

She brightened up after that. They chatted about nonsensical things for another five minutes, after which Susan insisted that she wanted to read the book she'd brought from the Bones' Mansion. After a good deal of rummaging through her bag, she extracted a rather worn-out copy of Jane Eyre. As she settled down to read, Harry slid over to the window and looked outside.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters was slowly becoming the crowded place that Harry had walked onto for the first time, two years ago. Of course, with half an hour left for the train to depart, it wasn't as packed as it had been then, but there were still a fair number of excited students and anxious parents who Harry could make out – albeit with some slight difficulty, owing to the smoke issuing from the engine in front.

He could just make out Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas – his fellow Gryffindors – heaving their trunks onto one of the carriages in front and disappearing from view. They reappeared, trunk-less, after a short while, and headed towards Seamus' mother to say goodbye. Closer to his carriage, he spotted another of his Gryffindor year-mates, Neville Longbottom, standing next to an old woman – through the growing throng, he could discern her wrinkled face and a hat topped with what looked like a stuffed vulture.

A sudden thought struck Harry, and he glanced back at Susan. She appeared to be completely engrossed in her book. He smiled inwardly – he knew he shouldn't be doing what he was going to do, but the opportunity to test it was too good to pass up.

He stood up and moved towards the door. 'I'm just going to go and wait for Ron and Hermione outside,' he said, which wasn't a lie – he was, eventually, going to wait for Ron and Hermione outside on the platform. Susan didn't seem to have heard him; if she did, she gave no acknowledgement to what he said, even as Harry stepped out of the compartment, down the corridor and out on to the platform.

The crowd had increased substantially all of a sudden – Harry found it difficult to manoeuvre between the mass of bodies to the other side of the platform. He finally ducked behind a pillar at the far end of the platform, making sure that no one could actually see him. He was especially careful to ensure that he wasn't in Susan's line of sight – he was sure she wouldn't be pleased to see what he was about to do.

Harry looked at the wall in front of him. The bricks were of a reddish-brown colour, and at first sight, didn't seem extraordinary at all. He, however, was least interested in what was visible to naked eye. He glanced around once more; no one seemed to paying him any attention. He closed his eyes, placed his hand on the wall, and slowly ran it across the bricks.

For the first few seconds, nothing happened. Harry continued running his hand across the wall, concentrating, focusing… He'd done it before, just like the Professor had instructed them… It shouldn't be this difficult… He clenched his eyes tighter, now breathing heavily as he forced every bit of himself to concentrate on the wall…

'C'mon,' he muttered quietly, his teeth gritted. ' _Come on_ …' And then –

A mixture of satisfaction, accomplishment and relief washed over him, just as he opened his eyes to stare at the brick wall. Only that, instead of its usual reddish-brown colour, it now resembled a small child's painting canvas. The wall was splashed with numerous colours – blue, red, yellow and orange, interspersed with a splatter of green and violet. Harry could even see a bit of pink in between the red and yellow patches.

He grinned broadly, elated with his success. No one seemed to have noticed him either, which was a good thing. It would have been a fine sight indeed – Harry Potter running his hand over the wall and smiling at nothing in particular.

Not a soul was supposed to know that he was able to detect Magical Imprints…

* * *

 _Fourteen days earlier – Wednesday, August 18, 1993_

'Magical Imprints,' intoned Professor Fernandes in his deep voice. 'Ever heard of them?'

They were in the Duelling Room after lunch. Harry and Susan were seated on beanbags, looking up at Professor Bernard Fernandes, who was slowly pacing in front of them. A black-board stood behind him, the term 'Magical Imprints' written on it.

Harry shook his head, but Susan nodded.

'Ah yes,' said Professor Fernandes knowingly. 'I thought as much. Did Amelia tell you?'

'Err, not really,' replied Susan. 'I overheard her talking to Moody about something, and she kept mentioning the term Magical Imprints. I don't know what it means, though.'

She looked slightly sheepish at having to admit that she'd eavesdropped on what Madam Bones termed as 'extremely important Ministry information.' Professor Fernandes, however, seemed unperturbed by this.

'Ah,' he said again. 'Very well, then.'

He paused in his pacing, seemingly lost in thought as he gazed at the space above Harry and Susan's heads. Harry had the impression that Professor Fernandes was trying to figure out how best to explain this new concept to the pair of them.

Suddenly, without warning, Professor Fernandes drew his wand from his robes, turned towards the dummies at the other side of the room, and yelled ' _Expelliarmus!_ '

A jet of scarlet light shot out of Professor Fernandes' wand, and hit the first dummy straight in the centre of the painted target. For an old man of two hundred and fifty-seven, the power generated by him was quite impressive – the dummy was knocked clean off its feet on the spell's impact and crashed against the wall with a loud clang.

The Professor turned back to them. 'Now, what colour was that spell?' he asked, as though this was a routine occurrence in his class.

'Red,' they chimed in chorus.

Professor Fernandes nodded, then walked over to the desk next to the bookshelf to extract from his suitcase a pair of what appeared to be swimming goggles to Harry. He walked over to the dummy, beckoning them to follow him.

'Now, put on these goggles and tell me what you see,' he said, pointing at the fallen, almost destroyed dummy. Harry put on the goggles first, looked down, and gave an involuntary gasp of surprise.

The area where the spell had hit the dummy was pulsing a vivid red, as though someone had splashed some blood onto it, and then enchanted the blood to glow menacingly. He looked up at Professor Fernandes, his amazed expression framed by the thick, dark goggles, and what he saw almost made him stumble backwards in shock.

The room was _glowing_. There were splashes of colour – _everywhere_. Vivid red just like the one on the dummy, soft pink, dark blue, pale turquoise, and, with a jolt of horrible familiarity, a patch of poisonous green on the wall just behind Professor Fernandes.

Harry ripped the goggles off his face, only just realizing that he'd been breathing heavily as he stared wildly around the room.

'What _was_ that?' he gasped at Professor Fernandes. Behind him, he heard a squeak of surprise – Susan had grabbed the goggles and had seen what Harry saw on the dummy.

'A Magical Imprint,' said Professor Fernandes simply, taking the goggles back from Susan and slipping it into a pocket of his robes. 'The remnants of a spell, if it is to be crudely described. Just like how each spell has its own distinctive colour, each of them have their own Imprint. Think of it as the fingerprint of a spell, if you will.'

He began to pace again in front of them. Harry was still breathing heavily, still in shock at the multitude of colours that were splayed around the walls. Professor Fernandes continued.

'Magical Imprints, like fingerprints, are permanent – they never change,' he said. 'Every Imprint tells the story of a spell that was cast. They do fade, however, but very slowly. Extremely slowly, actually. Most Imprints stay for as long as fifty years.'

Harry and Susan had calmed down sufficiently now, and were listening to every word of his with rapt attention. 'The concept is fairly simple. When a spell is cast – like the Disarming Charm just there – an Imprint is formed upon contact with a physical, tangible object. In this case, it was the dummy. After the initial impact, most of the Imprint is formed on that particular object. But,' he raised his finger, and Harry knew he was making an important point just then, 'the Imprint is also formed in the area around the object, particularly right beneath the object itself.

'Susan, could you please raise the dummy a little?' he asked kindly. Susan drew her wand from her jeans, pointed it at the dummy, and said, ' _Wingardium Leviosa!_ '

The dummy rose to the air and floated, its metal limbs still grotesquely spread out as a result of the crash. Harry looked around at Professor Fernandes, who was now digging the goggles back out of his pocket. He handed them to Harry, indicating that he should put them on again. With a slight bit of trepidation at what he thought was about to see, Harry donned the goggles again and looked down at the floor below the floating dummy.

This time, however, it was less of a shock, and more of an odd feeling of disgust at the sight. The floor was pulsing with the same vivid red colour, exactly like the splash on the dummy, and precisely where it had been at the time of impact. But that wasn't the only one. Here and there were splotches and blotches of colour, not unlike the ones splayed across the walls of the Duelling Room. Most of these seemed to be near the area where the dummies stood, while a fair few were on the other side of the room. Harry could recognise some of the spells he and Susan had cast – which had either hit their mark or hit the floor – during their other sessions.

'You recognise the red colour, don't you?' asked Professor Fernandes, waving his wand so that the dummy remained floating in the air; Susan lowered her wand and took the goggles from Harry to have a look. 'It's the same, the exact same colour as the one on the dummy. Not the same dimensions of course, but almost similar, don't you think?' They both nodded, Susan still wearing the goggles and looking around the floor interestedly.

'These Imprints,' continued Professor Fernandes, taking the goggles back from Susan and lowering the dummy back to the floor, 'are extremely useful for the Ministry of Magic. They form a crucial part of the evidence collected by Aurors when they investigate a scene. Something you would have overheard from your Aunt,' he added with a nod towards Susan. 'If I'm not mistaken, they would have been determining which spells were cast at that scene, and at what time. It takes a certain bit of skill and experience, however, to ascertain when the spell actually hit – not something that can be done on your first day.'

They moved back to the beanbags and the blackboard; behind them, there was a loud POP as the mangled dummy vanished, only to be replaced by a completely repaired dummy, looking as though nothing had ever happened.

The lesson continued for another quarter of an hour – Professor Fernandes had them casting a variety of spells at the dummies one by one, and putting on the goggles to identify the colours splattered on the dummies and the area around them. Harry tried the Tickling Charm (' _Rictusempra!_ '), the Dancing Feet Spell (' _Tarantallegra!_ '), and the Disarming Charm, at which he had become, in Professor Fernandes' words, 'particularly impressive'.

Despite the distraction of the workout, and the concentration that was required of them to cast and identify the spells, Harry couldn't help thinking back to a little while earlier when he'd first observed the Duelling Room through the goggles. The patch of poisonous green which he'd spotted on the wall next to the dummies kept invading his mind – it was too familiar for him to drive it away. He knew he'd seen that shade of green before, but try as he might, he just could not remember…

* * *

 _Present day – Wednesday, September 1, 1993_

The colours that grotesquely decorated the brick wall in front of him slowly faded away, leaving only the reddish brown tint behind. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, as the memories of his first ever class on Magical Imprints played before his eyes.

 _The green_ , he thought desperately, _where have I seen that green before?_

About thirty seconds later, Harry decided to give it up – his mind and memory were refusing to cooperate with him. He heaved an irritated sigh through his mouth, dislodging the dust on the wall in front of him and making him cough. Hastily trying to cover the sound with his upper arm over his mouth – lest anyone see him lurking behind a pillar for no apparent reason – Harry slipped out into the sizeable crowd that was now swarming the platform.

Fifteen minutes to eleven, said the giant clock hanging at the front of platform nine and three-quarters, its hands partially obscured by the smoke that was now swirling from the scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express. Harry found himself buffeted by the crowd as he made his way over to the carriage where he'd left Susan behind. His desire at placing himself at the far end of the platform – so that Susan could not see what he was doing – was a decision he was half-heartedly regretting at the moment; he was forced into doing spins and twirls in order to avoid colliding with people – actions that would certainly have not looked out of place on his Nimbus 2000 at the Quidditch Pitch.

He was almost near the carriage when he realised that he'd given Susan the excuse that he wanted to look out for Ron and Hermione when they arrived. A perfectly plausible excuse – except for the fact that he had not seen two best friends at all.

At least, until that moment.

'Harry! Hey, Harry!'

There he was: tall and gangly for his age, Ron stood next to the second carriage in front of Harry's, waving his arm frantically at him, a wide grin threatening to split his face, and his red hair barely discernible in the smog that was now slowly permeating all over the platform.

Harry grinned broadly, and made his way over to Ron. From up close, he noticed that Ron's face had become, if possible, even frecklier. He'd also shot up quite a bit – but the effect was considerably lessened by Harry's own growth spurt over the summer. The extra helpings at meals, and the restorative potions provided by Tom, during his stay at the Leaky Cauldron, had ensured that Harry was quite close to becoming a healthy, good looking thirteen year-old boy.

It was only then that he noticed that the rest of the Weasleys were there as well. Tall, balding Mr Weasley was staring around as though looking for someone – but a second later, he realised the look on the older man's face as that of someone who was dearly looking to avoid being drawn into a conversation that they had no interest in joining.

Exactly what that conversation was about became quite clear just another second later, as he heard the rather loud voice of plump little Mrs Weasley as she berated her twin sons – Fred and George – for something they had done. No doubt another prank of theirs, as Fred and George did not appear to be the least ashamed of themselves. On the contrary, they seemed to be quite proud of whatever they'd achieved – identical, small grins gracing their faces despite the scoldings of their mother.

'…completely irresponsible, the two of you!' Mrs Weasley was saying, an angry glint in her eyes.

'Calm down, Mum,' placated Fred – or was it George? Harry had always had trouble in identifying the twins – in what he hoped was a soothing voice. 'It's a simple charm, it'll go off after –'

'Go off?' repeated Mrs Weasley sharply, her eyes narrowing. 'He's not waiting until it _goes off_ – you put it right this instant!'

'What did they do?' muttered Harry to Ron as he sidled up to him. Ron smirked.

'Charmed Percy's Head Boy badge to read 'Bighead Boy',' sniggered Ron, careful to avoid having his mother's indignation directed towards him. 'Shame, really. No one else pointed it out except his _girlfriend_ ,' Ron grimaced, as though it was something of a foreign concept to him, 'Penelope Clearwater.'

Percy Weasley was Ron's third eldest brother – after Bill and Charlie, who Harry had never met – who was due to start his final year at Hogwarts this year, and had been appointed as Head Boy. Harry had not interacted with him much, but he appeared to be someone who was a stickler for following the rules, and maintaining a sense of order and decorum at any given occasion. Tampering with his badge like that would have probably embarrassed Percy a great deal – something which, he was sure, was Fred and George's intended goal.

A movement from his right caught his eye, and he saw Ginny Weasley descend onto the platform from the carriage behind her and make her way to join the rest of her family. She was panting slightly – Harry surmised that she had been lugging her trunk through the corridors of the carriage to their compartment.

Egypt seemed to have done her a lot of good – she was as freckly as Ron, but she looked refreshed and relaxed – the holiday evidently alleviating the pressures and stress of her turbulent first year. She'd let her long, fiery hair down, which fell to just below her shoulders, instead of the ponytail she'd usually sported last year at Hogwarts. Her brown eyes, which he remembered being so lost and confused, were now sparkling, and full of life.

Suddenly, as though aware that someone was observing her, Ginny turned to look at Harry from her position next to her father. 'Harry!' she exclaimed happily, a big grin on her face as she walked towards him and Ron.

'Ginny,' he said, grinning back at her. He was relieved to see that she was not blushing or getting embarrassed merely at the sight of him anymore; it looked like she had really gotten over her crush on him, and was now nothing more than a good friend.

Ginny's shout had drawn the attention of the rest of the Weasley family to Harry's presence; soon, Harry found himself being crushed by a hug from Mrs Weasley, a genial handshake from Mr Weasley, a rather formal greeting from Percy, and the usual vigorous salutations from Fred and George.

'Harry, old boy!' said Fred, who'd elbowed Percy out of the way and was shaking Harry's hand heartily. 'How absolutely marvellous to see you!'

'Simply spiffing!' said George, who pushed his twin out of the way and wrung Harry's hand delightedly.

'Fred, George,' acknowledged Harry, as he tried not to laugh at their antics. Trust the twins to cheer anybody up with their jokes and comments. 'Looks like Egypt agreed with you two.'

And it had – Fred and George, who had been shorter and stockier than Percy or Ron, now looked to be as tall as their immediately elder brother. Just like the rest of the family, their faces had only become more freckled – but rather than becoming like pockmarks on their visage, it added to their mischievous looks and smirks.

Harry made a mental note never to give either of them a reason to prank him at all that year.

'Indeed,' said Fred, in an imitation of a deep baritone.

'You looked like you did good this summer too, Harry,' said George, looking him up and down. 'You're almost as tall as Ron!'

'Our ickle Harrikins,' said Fred proudly, 'growing up so fast.' He wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye.

'Alas, 'tis true, brother mine!' George gave a huge fake sigh. 'Soon he will be old enough to –'

'That's enough, you two!' snapped Mrs Weasley. 'Oh, Harry dear,' she said, in a much calmer voice as she addressed the boy in question. 'I hope your summer was good?'

'Very good, Mrs Weasley,' replied Harry, with a broad grin.

He barely had a chance to continue the conversation, however; there were only five minutes left for the Hogwarts Express to depart. Mrs Weasley hugged him once again, her eyes oddly bright, before shepherding him and the rest of the Weasley children onto the train.

'Hang on,' said Harry right before he got into the carriage. 'Where's Hermione?'

Right on cue, as though fate had decided to answer his question, he spotted his second best friend hurtling through the barrier that separated platform nine and three-quarters from the Muggle world. The contents of her trolley – her Hogwarts trunk and a small wickerwork basket – rattled as she pushed it in front of her, running as fast as she could to their carriage. Harry leapt down from the carriage onto the platform, just as she pulled up, her face red and sweaty.

'Harry!' she panted, rubbing her side to get rid of what seemed like a stitch. 'Got – stuck – jam –'

'Explain later, Hermione!' he said hurriedly, and with surprising strength, lifted her trunk straight up with both hands and clambered onto the train. Hermione, still clutching her side, followed him, the wickerwork basket in her hands, just as a shrill blast of a whistle rang throughout the platform.

With a shudder, the train began to move forward; Hermione, who was standing without holding onto any support, lost her balance and almost fell over, but Harry managed to catch her just in time, and set her on her two feet once again.

'Thanks,' she said breathlessly. She gave a moan of pain, and bent over to get rid of the stitch.

'Easy, Hermione,' said Harry, patting her back. 'C'mon, let's get to the compartment.'

He began hauling her trunk down the corridor, looking around for Ron – or any tell-tale sign of red hair. Hermione followed him, the basket still held tightly in her hands. Harry noticed that whatever was inside was emitting some hissing noises; he half wondered if Hermione had actually gotten a snake as a pet, but then, the thing inside let out a pitiful mewing sound.

'It's alright, Crookshanks, I'll let you out soon,' said Hermione soothingly.

'Crookshanks?' asked Harry in a puzzled tone, as they proceeded down the corridor.

'He's a cat,' said Hermione, as though that explained everything. 'I got him from Magical Menagerie at Diagon Alley. Poor Crookshanks, the witch there said that no one had ever wanted him.'

From the angry hissing noises that Crookshanks was emitting once more, Harry privately thought he understood why no one had bothered to buy a cat like that, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and did not comment.

They finally found Ron in the last compartment of that carriage – but he wasn't alone. Harry stared at the man sitting fast asleep next to the window. His light brown hair was flecked with strands of grey, and his face – or at least what Harry could see of his face – was prematurely lined. It gave the man the appearance of being much older than he actually was. Harry dimly noted that his robes were shabby too – they were darned in a number of places. The man looked ill and exhausted, as though he'd just stepped on the train after running a full marathon.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who glanced at Ron, who shrugged. 'Everywhere else was full,' he whispered, motioning them to come in.

Harry stopped at the threshold, suddenly remembering that he'd first boarded the train with Susan. She was probably wondering where he'd gone. 'I've already got a compartment,' he said, beckoning Ron to grab his own trunk and exit the compartment. 'It's about two carriages down – Susan's there.'

'Really?' asked Hermione interestedly. 'You came with her? I thought you were with Ron.'

Harry, who'd been in the process of manoeuvring his trunk out in the slightly narrow corridor, looked at her in surprise. 'Whatever gave you that idea?'

'Well, I heard from Ron that you'd blown up your Aunt or something –'

'I didn't tell him!' said Harry quickly. 'I don't even know how he found out.' He looked back at Ron, who'd managed to pull his trunk down from the luggage rack above the seats, and was dragging it out of the compartment with the least amount of noise. 'How did you know I blew up my Aunt?'

'You're not saying you actually did blow up your Aunt!' said Hermione, shocked. 'I thought Ron was joking!'

'Dad,' said Ron simply, ignoring Hermione for the moment. 'I think Fudge might have told him – word spreads pretty quickly in the Ministry if you want it to, anyway.'

Harry nodded. As a Ministry employee, Mr Weasley was bound to have found out about the incident, even if he wasn't directly in the department that responded to the situation. The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office only dealt with objects that wizards charmed to affect Muggles, and not necessarily charms placed on Muggles themselves.

'Harry…' began Hermione.

'I'll tell you in a bit, Hermione,' he said, moving down the corridor to the end of the carriage. Harry could see the last few urban structures flash past in the windows, and knew they were just about to exit London itself. Sure enough, by the time they crossed over to the next carriage, the high-rise buildings had made way for farmhouses dotted on the landscape of large green fields.

The two carriage journey took a bit longer than expected, owing to the fact that there were plenty of students moving about in the solitary corridor that ran the length of the train. The three of them had already run into Dean, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati, who'd stepped out of their compartment to look for Fay and Christine, their fellow Gryffindors. Further down the carriage, they exchange pleasantries with Anthony Goldstein, their year-mate in Ravenclaw House who they'd interacted with a few times during their Charms lessons at Hogwarts.

'Where have you been?' asked Susan, as Harry opened the door to the compartment and stepped inside. He could detect a faint worried tone in her voice, something that surprised him. Surely she hadn't thought that he'd missed the train?

'I went to find Ron and Hermione, I told you,' explained Harry, after shoving Hermione's trunk up onto the luggage rack next to his. He then turned to help Ron with his own, before flopping onto the seat next to Ron, while Hermione sat next to Susan. 'It's not my fault you got engrossed in Jane Eyre.'

'Jane Eyre?' Hermione perked up at this, looking sideways at Susan with surprise. 'You read Muggle literature?'

Susan eyed him suspiciously, but accepted his explanation without question, before turning to Hermione. 'Auntie has always encouraged me to read Muggle literature, so that we can understand how they live. Jane Eyre is one of my favourites.'

Hermione clapped her hands enthusiastically. 'That's wonderful, it's one of my favourites as well!' And with that, the two girls began an excited discussion about the book and its characters, all but ignoring the two boys.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, and sighed. 'A game of chess, then?' suggested Harry.

'I'm glad you asked,' said Ron, a relieved look on his face. 'I was half afraid that you were going to join them in the discussion.'

Harry grinned at Ron. 'I've already had this discussion with Susan, I just don't want to participate in it once more.'

Ron gaped at him, but Harry paid him no mind as he pulled out his wizard's chess board and his own pieces.

'What exactly did you do this summer, Harry?' asked Ron, still looking at him in amazement.

Harry gave him a mysterious smile. 'You'd be surprised at how much you could accomplish in the space of three weeks, Ron.'

* * *

It was at least a good three hours later when Hermione and Susan finished their dissection of Charlotte Bronte's masterpiece, by which time Harry had lost, rather spectacularly, in three chess matches to Ron. They were packing the pieces away – Harry slightly grumpier than Ron after his losses – when the door to the compartment slid open, and the witch pushing the food trolley looked inside.

'Anything off the trolley, dears?' she asked kindly.

Harry quickly bought some Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, and a rather large box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, his slightly sour mood at losing three matches in a row to Ron dissipating at the realization that he was extremely hungry. He brought everything back into the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat, whereupon Ron immediately seized a Chocolate Frog, ripped open the wrapping, bit off the head, and sat back with a relieved sigh.

'Hungry, are you?' asked Susan as she picked up a Cauldron Cake for herself.

'Famished,' replied Ron, his mouth still full of chocolate.

It was a few minutes later that Harry remembered something, which the witch pushing the food trolley reminded him off. He had never seen any other adult on the Hogwarts Express before – granted, he'd only travelled on it three times before this – but he was pretty sure the train was reserved for students. So, after swallowing a particularly tasty Bean he'd picked out from the box, he turned to Ron.

'Who was that man?' asked Harry; when Ron looked a bit confused, he elaborated, 'The man who was in the compartment you'd picked out.'

Before Ron could answer, however, Hermione said, 'Professor R. J. Lupin.'

Harry gaped at her.

'It was on his case,' she said, with the tiniest hint of exasperation. 'Honestly, don't you two look?'

'I was a bit surprised to see the man, to be honest,' said Harry defensively, and it was true.

'Err – what's going on?' asked Susan, clearly lost. Harry quickly filled her in on who they'd seen sleeping in the compartment two carriages ahead.

'Are adults allowed on the Hogwarts Express?' asked Harry interestedly, after he'd finished. 'I thought it was reserved for students only.'

Everyone looked at Hermione, who looked thoughtful for a moment. 'I'm…not sure, to be honest,' she said slowly. 'There's nothing mentioned about the Express in _Hogwarts: A History_ –'

'A tragedy if I ever saw one,' interjected Ron, with a grin at Harry.

'– but I'm sure there must be something in the Hogwarts library about it,' finished Hermione, glaring at Ron. 'In any case, the witch with the lunch trolley is allowed, isn't she?'

'That's what I thought,' said Harry. 'She reminded me of Professor Lupin's presence.' He suddenly grinned. 'Imagine if she wasn't, though. A tragedy if I ever saw one, right Ron?'

Ron smirked at him. 'Touché, Harry.'

The green fields and farms outside disappeared as they ate their way through the Cakes, Pasties, Beans and Frogs; the train was now passing through woods, crossing over twisting rivers, and zooming past dark green hills. Harry, chewing on his third Pasty, looked outside interestedly at the scenery, just as the clouds overhead began to thicken ominously. In what seemed like no time, the sky had darkened so much that the lanterns in the corridors and above the luggage racks flickered into life.

As the train zipped along, small droplets of water began to land on the windows – which then became larger and larger as the rain increased in its intensity, hammering down on the train and obscuring the scenery outside. Harry turned away from the window, and found that everyone else had finished with their lunch as well. Hermione, ever the organized one, was moving the empty wrappings and boxes to a corner of the compartment. Susan was gazing out the window, despite the near-zero visibility, lost in thought.

Harry saw Ron fumbling a bit in his chest pocket with what looked like a large lump; a second later, he'd pulled Scabbers, his pet rat, who seemed to be snoozing peacefully.

'What's with him?' asked Harry, gesturing at Scabbers, who he noticed was looking thinner than usual. As he looked closer, Harry could see a definite droop to his whiskers.

'He's been like that ever since we got back from Egypt,' said Ron with a slightly worried look. 'I don't think he liked the place that much.'

Hermione, meanwhile, was fumbling with the straps of the basket; finally managing to get it open, she removed the lid, and lifted out her cat, Crookshanks. The cat had thick, fluffy, ginger fur, but it was bow-legged and had a grumpy looking face, which, for some reason, also seemed oddly squashed – as though it had run headfirst into a brick wall.

Crookshanks began hissing quite fiercely as soon as he spotted Scabbers, much to the alarm of both Ron and Hermione. The latter grabbed him tightly around the middle – and it was a good thing she did too; the cat had been readying himself to pounce on the sleeping rat, who was as yet oblivious to the danger around him.

'Where did you get him?' hissed Ron fearfully, as he shoved roughly Scabbers back in his pocket. Crookshanks' yellow eyes were fixed on the pocket, as though evaluating the best time to pounce on Scabbers.

'Diagon Alley,' said Hermione, who looked a little worried. 'I think I'll put him back inside now.'

'Yeah, that's probably a good idea,' said Susan. She helped Hermione in placing Crookshanks back in the wickerwork basket and securing its straps. Crookshanks meowed rather pitifully.

'Sorry, Crookshanks,' said Hermione through the wickerwork. 'As much as I love you, I can't have you eating Ron's rat. I'll let you out at Hogwarts, all right?'

The tension that had arisen in the compartment at Crookshanks' readiness to presumably swallow Scabbers slowly eased out. The rain, however, did not let up one bit; sheets and sheets of it continued to hammer on the train as it sped further north towards the Scottish Highlands. Harry could dimly make out the rolling hills fading away, with bare, grim-looking moors appearing in their place.

Susan's voice broke into his thoughts. 'How was Egypt, Ron?'

'Brilliant!' said Ron happily, glad for a change in topic. 'We got to see Bill after ages, I hadn't seen him since the summer after he graduated from Hogwarts. My eldest brother,' he added, seeing the slightly confused look on Susan's face. 'He works as a curse-breaker for Gringotts' branch in Cairo.'

'I thought you said you went to Giza?' asked Hermione.

'Technically, we didn't go to Giza. Not the city, anyway. We visited the Giza Plateau – you know, the one with the pyramids and the Sphinx and all.' The other three nodded in understanding; Harry vaguely remembered a history lesson in his primary school regarding Egypt and the Pyramids of Giza. 'Bill's main job is to help in breaking the curses those old pharaohs placed on their tombs. Some of them are pretty gruesome, mind you – one of them had mutant skeletons in them, Muggles who'd broken in for digging out some gold and had grown extra limbs and stuff.'

Harry remembered Ron mentioning this in the letter he'd received for his birthday in July. He tuned out the conversation for a bit as Ron went on about the horrific curses on the Egyptian tombs, but re-focused as the Sphinx became the topic of conversation.

'No one really knows who made it, and when it was made, do they?' asked Hermione interestedly. 'I mean, there are so many conspiracy theories floating about –'

'What are you on about?' asked Susan, nonplussed. 'Conspiracy theories on when it was made? And by who? Surely you've read about Egyptian wizards, Hermione!'

The bushy-haired Gryffindor blushed scarlet, and mumbled something that sounded like, 'Not really.'

Harry stared at her. So did Ron. Never had they known Hermione to have not read a book, especially on a topic as fascinating as this.

'You're joking, right?' asked Ron, incredulity spreading over his face. 'I mean, everyone knows that it was built for the Pharaoh Khafra, the ancient Egyptian wizard! He even had a pet Sphinx, didn't you know?'

The compartment door slid open, and a drawling voice spoke, 'Well, well, Weasley knows something that Granger doesn't? That's an unprecedented situation, to say the least!'

Harry did not even need to turn his head to identify the owner of that voice. He gave a mental groan as he looked around and saw the pale, pointed face of his school rival, Draco Malfoy, standing just outside the compartment, his lips curved into a malicious, sarcastic smirk. His two bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, stood behind him, waiting to do his bidding.

'What do you want, Malfoy?' asked Harry.

Malfoy ignored him, and turned to Ron.

'Seven hundred galleons, eh, Weasley? Did you mother die of shock at seeing so much gold?'

Ron stood up so fast he almost banged his head against the luggage rack above him. Harry stood up too, just in case he needed to hold Ron back from punching Malfoy, despite how tempting the idea was. The girls were watching Malfoy carefully – Harry dimly noted, out of the corner of his eye, that Susan had drawn her wand.

All of a sudden, there was a shudder as the train began to slow down. The seven of them looked around at the window outside – which wasn't telling much, as it was completely blackened by the rain outside. Susan, who was closest to the window, tried rubbing a patch on the window clean, so that she could peer outside.

'We can't be there yet,' said Malfoy with a sneer. 'What do you expect you could see outside, Bones?' Susan ignored him, still staring outside, her breath fogging the glass.

'Why are we stopping then?' asked Harry.

The train came to a stop with a jolt; loud bangs and thuds told them that various trunks and cases had fallen out of the racks above; Ron narrowly avoided getting hit by Harry's trunk as it slid out and thudded to the floor. And then, without warning, all the lamps went out, plunging the entire train into total darkness.

For a moment, no one moved, or made a sound. The rain hammering onto the roof and windows of the train was louder than ever, especially since the sound of the train's pistons had died out. Oddly, Harry could also sense a faint whistling noise coming from somewhere in the compartment; a second later, he realised it was coming from his trunk on the floor.

'What's happening?' asked Malfoy, who was still standing at the door to the compartment. 'What's that noise, Potter?'

'It's coming from your trunk, Harry,' said Hermione, and she reached down to open it, only to pull out the Pocket Sneakoscope out from between Harry's robes. It was glowing brilliantly, and it was spinning very fast on the palm of Hermione's hand. The light from it faintly illuminated the compartment, showing Hermione's interested face. Susan was still looking outside the window.

'A Sneakoscope, Potter? Why on earth would you have a Sneakoscope?' sneered Malfoy.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Susan ignored him.

'I wonder who the untrustworthy one around here is,' mused Hermione. As one, the three of them – minus Susan – turned to look at Malfoy, who glared at them, his grey eyes glinting in the light from the Sneakoscope.

'There's someone coming aboard,' announced Susan, and for some reason, she sounded a bit frightened – a tone only Harry could discern.

'What is it, Susan?' asked Harry, looking back at her.

And then, without any warning, the temperature in the compartment dropped, as though a frigid blast of icy cold wind had swept over all of them. Their breath was fogging up in front of them, and they automatically wrapped their arms around themselves to stave off the cold that was now spreading across the train.

'W-what's going on?' asked Malfoy, who sounded quite scared – even more than he had been when they'd been taken into the Forbidden Forest for detention in their first year. His face was paler than usual, and his eyes darted around the compartment, wide and fearful. Crabbe and Goyle, to the surprise of everyone else, including Malfoy, backed out of the compartment and headed down the corridor to the next carriage.

'Oi, you idiots!' called Malfoy angrily, but they paid no attention to his shouts. He made to follow them, but just as he stepped back into the corridor, Harry caught sight of a large cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling, standing just beyond and partially shrouded in the darkness.

Harry seized the front of Malfoy's robes and pulled him back into the compartment. Malfoy stumbled forwards, caught off balance, and nearly fell onto Ron, who was standing next to Harry, who immediately slid the door shut with a loud thud, just as Malfoy looked to regain his balance by grabbing onto the nearest seat.

'What the – what's going on, Potter?' demanded Malfoy as he straightened up, glaring daggers at the Gryffindor. His hair, usually sleeked back, was a bit disarrayed, while his robes looked a bit crumpled from where Harry had grabbed them.

Harry ignored him, and made to lock the door, but it slid open just before he could reach the latch.

Standing in the doorway was the same cloaked figure Harry had sighted out in the corridor. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Illuminated by the glow from the still spinning Sneakoscope, the figure towered menacingly over the five teenagers, all of whom were slowly backing away from it. Harry looked down, and immediately knew it was a mistake to do so; there was a hand protruding from the black cloak, a human hand, but it looked…dead, decayed; slimy and greyish, it glistened in the faint light as it slowly moved – no, _floated_ – over the threshold.

All this while, the cold had been steadily increasing – it now seemed as though the compartment was suffering from its own private and severe winter season, but without any snow, or wind. The air itself was just so cold, and thick; Harry found it an absolutely struggle to raise one foot after the other, just to step backwards.

The creature – for what else could Harry call it? It definitely wasn't a human – swung its face from left to right, as though looking for something, or someone. Clearly it did not find what it was searching, for it gave a jerk of its head, as if it was annoyed.

And then, the thing beneath the hood drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck in more than just air from the surroundings.

With that breath, Harry felt the last vestiges of warmth evaporate from his skin; he stumbled back as the cold intensified…it was spreading into his nerves, right into his very heart; he was finding it difficult to breathe clearly, his vision was being obscured, it was becoming dimmer…

His eyes rolled up into his head; vaguely, he felt himself fall onto the floor of the compartment, but he couldn't see anything…he was drowning in the cold, falling through the mist and fog that threatened to envelop him in its embrace…a rushing sound filled his ears, as though he were being dunked into a cascading river – the sound grew to a roar, even as he fell, still further down…

And from somewhere, a place far away, he heard someone screaming, a woman's screams; they were terrible, terrified, pleading screams – screams that were begging for death, for release, for mercy…

' _Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –'_

' _Stand aside, you silly girl, stand aside, now…'_

' _Not Harry, not Harry, no, please…have mercy, have mercy!'_

He wanted to help her, he had to! He tried to move his arms, but he couldn't – it was as though they were made of lead, they were so heavy – and the fog was making it difficult beyond anything he'd ever experienced – he was sinking into the thick mist that swirled around him, inside him…

' _No, please, no, not Harry!'_

A shrill laughter rang in his ears, and Harry knew no more.


End file.
